#and i mean id have to live in new jersey. so in the city with city driving and prob a more high pressure school environment

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[judgedarts]

hi!! proud owner of i think 5 atp jojo chibi charms and VERY new artist alley vendor here and i was just wondering, how do you budget/manage costs for non local cons that might have high transportation costs or more expensive tables? do you usually make back what you spent on transport + table/tickets + merch production/ordering + etc at the con or is there a slight loss? this is mainly for my own reference asking someone successful so ty for answering!!!

hey! congratulations on becoming an AA vendor :,) im very honored that you've bought from me before and that you consider me a 'successful' vendor haha!

i'm really passionate when it comes to talking about AA stuff so I'll be putting my answer in the read more since it's pretty long lol!

to be honest, I'm in a very lucky position to be able to travel to conventions beyond the east coast because it can really get expensive T_T i think the most honest answer i can give you is that your first couple of cons most likely are going to be a slight loss for you income wise if you are planning on traveling for a convention - tbh, i generally don't recommend doing a convention out of your state/out of your means if you're very new to tabling. my very first conventions were in driving/public transport distance (i love you new york and new jersey!!!) so i never spent money other than the table cost and ordering product. so if you're starting out and live in a state that has local cons, id HIGHLY recommend doing local events to get experience and cutting down costs as much as you can so you can get the most out of it! if you do intend on doing out-of-state cons because your state doesn't have many small local cons, i totally get it, but again, just try to keep your costs as low as possible. here are some suggestions and things to keep in mind:

1.split costs with a friend

split the table, split hotel fees, split ubers, etc! if you have family/friends in that state, consider crashing at their place for the weekend! maybe treat them to dinner haha

2. save up funds

honestly, there's really no getting around it - you might have to get income from somewhere else besides selling merch @ cons! i worked a part-time job throughout college, did commissions/freelance, and had my store open to save up for cons.

3. remember to deduct all expenses for your business

keep in mind that table fees/travel and hotel fees/products/meals are all deductible. these are considered investments for your business and they're completely necessary for you to run said business so when it comes tax time, you'll be able to breathe a little easier haha.

4. know your limits and be cautious

unfortunately, not all cons are going to be successful or will go your way no matter how much money you pour into it. if you know a convention is going to be out of your means, you can always apply the following year. I've had plenty of cons i couldn't go to because i simply couldn't afford it at the time, but the more money you save up, the more experience you get, and the more connections you make, you'll be able to afford to go and be successful! i'd also do plenty of research about the convention (especially the attendance #s, how previous vendors feel about the con, etc) before you decide to go. 5. have fun!

even though the upfront price can be intimidating, you are still paying the price to travel, visit a city you've never been to, meet new people, fans, your friends, and make connections! not to mention the really inspiring and motivating atmosphere that artist alley can be. i hope that regardless of the money you make you take the time to enjoy the experience to the fullest and appreciate that you are sharing your awesome art with others :,)! i try to make the best out of a con even if i barely make even, and make new friends and connections because trust me, they are so meaningful ^^<3!

besides all that, i highly recommend joining the Artist Alley Network discord if you haven't already - there's a plethora of info, advice, etc that you can take away from there. https://discord.gg/artistalleynetwork i hope this was helpful! if you have any more specific questions I'm more than happy to answer them for you. if they're too specific or i don't feel comfortable answering, i hope you can understand too! good luck with all your AA endeavors - i believe in you and i really hope we will table at the same con soon!

[pucktoxicity]

i just wanted to yap and it’s ok if you don’t post this! but i’m moving to jersey city in the new year and i planned this wayyyyy before i got into hockey, but after getting into hockey and following ur blog it made me realize how close i’d be to where the devils players hang out. in some of ur posts you’ve said you live close to the prudential center and having seen/ interacted with some of the players- i just don’t know how id react if i saw luke or nico at target on a tuesday randomly💀 how do you handle being in situations where you see them and want to say something? complete side note, how are people like in that area? im genuinely terrified i wont make many friends being in a new environment(i know thats just me being nervous about this move) i love ur blog by the way!! i hope ur having a good day:)

it’s the funniest fucking to see them just doing normal people things (not that they’re not normal, but you know what i mean. like, i just saw you get into a fight with someone on ice skates last night and look at you, strolling through the cereal aisle lol).

you’ll be totally fine making new friends, that entire chunk of cities in that area (jersey city, west new york, hoboken, etc., etc.) are very young areas right now! a lot of people commute into/from nyc for work, a lot of people are freshly out of college, or in college nearby, so you’ll have plenty of opportunities to make friends! 😌 & i’d say it depends on where you are in jersey city. some areas aren’t great, for sure, but if you’re by any of the colleges in the area or on the water, it’s very safe. and thank you for loving my blog! i hope you have a great day/night too 💋❤️

[kylo-wrecked]

{ cont'd from here }

Screw the pooch. 

First of all, Ben could say he's done his best to screw it up with Beth, that she never let him. He could mention the few... several... times he's stormed out of a room or, when he's iced over, left the building without ever having set foot through the door. The more time Ben spends under the attuned eye of the Riley's, the more he understands why that is. Ben can see why and feel why: it's not that Beth has a goldfish-sized memory. It's that her brother takes up that much space. ( ~ It could be a comfort, their respective heights a joke between them, a point of connection, as of yet unformed. But Ben was never good at making friends. ~ )

Secondly, Ben doesn't like Riley's phrasing at all. And really, he doesn't mean to be disagreeable; he really, really doesn't. So, the id and ego at war; Ben's facial geometry puzzles over Riley's next threat—none of it sounds real. He heaves his shoulders in some vague gesture while Beth's crazy brother runs through his unhinged school bully routine and knocks back whiskey like water. 

Maybe it's just him. Ben has one: his vision blurring between the alcohol and the anti-depressant. Black t-shirt clinging to his back, the price he pays for making eye contact. 

"Beth remembers plenty," he counters with a weak smile. "She just stores memory in a different part of the body." 

Clears his throat.

"No, I'm just trying to make conversation. That's my mother's strong suit, though, not mine. I've never had a real job, so I struggle." 

Ever since Ben hot-boxed five bodies in a car on level three of the Parklane Mall garage in Little India. Maybe he's fishing for another reason not to feel bad about that one unspeakable thing. Ben always is. Or he's leaning into Riley's inherent antipathy toward him that seems somehow on par with Staten Island's aversion to gentrified Brooklyn. Ben’s eyes put up walls the way all New Yorker's eyes do at the sight of another day, another maniac, another train, or another person screaming through a tunnel. But Ben's eyes are his eyes, and there's a depth to them that can't he can't cover like Riley can his.

No, he's no threat. He'll even say yes to joining. Of course, he will. Normally, Ben wouldn't take up the offer; the smell of cigarettes makes him retch. It's been four years. One habit successfully kicked to death. Now, he kicks himself. Silently. But Ben falls in step, out into the too-thick air. Breathing in that smell wafting off the bowels of the Narrows that can only be described as 'that smell.' Breathing in the drift-off from a corkscrew of tobacco smoke twisting and fading into orange light. Breathing at last. 

A car on big tires throbs around a shady corner that stands out against the waxy shade of night. Someone hoots in a peeling painted-over brownstone across the street, where screens like the blue mirrors of an ancient cult sect light all the windows. 

Ben wonders about the Jersey Devil, his vision blotting on a flickering lamp post. God, he'd thought New York City's last gas lamp post lived in a West Village alleyway. He feels Riley looking at him and isn't surprised to see a what-the-fu-u-ck expression on his face when he turns. It's a face Beth makes, too, though never at him. 

"Sorry," he says. Rubs his neck. "You said something didn't—did you say something?"

@tarnishedhalo

[electrictoes]

When It Hits

For @dailysvu’s Sonny Carisi Week

Day 5:  “Are you okay? Relationship: Amanda Rollins  / Sonny Carisi​

Read on AO3

It had started out like any other Tuesday did these days. 

6am wake up; Amanda’s hair in his face; rolling over to silence his alarm just as Frannie started barking from the living room. Amanda’s lips on his shoulder as she got out of bed; she showered first, got dressed and took Frannie out for her morning walk before the girls were up - the morning routine is a little easier with a second pair of hands. The girls were eating breakfast when she got back and he had a coffee waiting for her. She gave him a kiss that was part thank you, part good morning, and Jesse giggled from behind her cereal bowl.

“And what’s so funny, little Miss Rollins?” he asked, making Jesse giggle harder.

“You kissed Mommy,” Billie said, as though it was the first time. He kissed Amanda again, just for their audience, then pressed exaggerated kisses to the top of each girl’s head before going back to the bedroom to get dressed for the day, the sound of their laughter following him down the hall.

Amanda took Jesse to school while Sonny dropped Billie at daycare; she had clung to his leg when he said goodbye - a phase she’d been going through - the daycare staff were used to this kind of thing, but he still felt guilty as he backed out of the room with her calling to him. He promised he’d see her that night, and he didn’t know then that he wouldn’t.

He sat through a morning meeting with Hadid and a handful of other ADAs, took the new case files she handed him and bit his tongue at the size of his pile compared to some of the others. Hadid caught his look, “It’s nothing you can’t handle, Counsellor.”

Ben Crosby leaned over, holding a file out to him, “This is Detective Rollins’ case,” he said, clearly hoping for an excuse to palm it off now that he’d given up trying to ask Amanda out.

“And I gave it to you, Mr Crosby,” Hadid said, “It’s open and shut.”

Sonny was glad not to be given even more work - it might have been Amanda’s case but he had more than enough on his plate. He’d taken the stairs down to his office, dropped the case files onto his desk and set to work - he had a lot of reading to do before he even got started on trial prep.

He spent the rest of the morning tied to his desk working through the case load, making calls, chasing witness testimonies, and only stopped when his cell phone rang, Amanda Rollins on the caller ID.

“Hey,” he said, dropping his pen to the desk to focus on the conversation, “What’s up?”

“This new case,” she sighed into the phone, “I need to rain check lunch.”

Now that he and Amanda lived together it was less disappointing to miss out on having lunch together than it used to be, but he’d still always rather eat with her than alone, “Okay,” he said, “You gonna eat?”

“I’ll get something later.”

“You won’t,” he argued, “Five years in that squad room together. I’ll bring somethin’ over.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, but he could hear the smile on her face through the phone. He could also hear Kat in the background; he couldn't make out her words but he doubted it was anything complimentary.

“I will,” he said, “I’m goin’ to the deli. And text me Kat’s order - Fin’s too if he wants anythin’.”

“See you soon,” she said. He returned the sentiment, believing it at the time.

Sonny walked from his office out to a deli a block away from the courthouse, one he and Amanda had started going to years ago, back when they were still partners in the professional sense. It was a familiar walk, cutting through side streets, and he didn’t need to pay attention to the route; he was answering emails from his phone, hoping to extend his lunch break little when the car hit him.

It happened so quickly he didn’t know what was happening until he’d already hit the ground, pain searing through him as he landed face down on the sidewalk.

He heard the car backing away and saw it drive off down the street as though nothing had happened - he heard approaching footsteps, someone saying, “Are you okay?”, and he tried to push himself upwards but his arms felt weak, the rest of his body heavy, and he dropped back down. His phone had fallen from his hand when the impact had happened, and he could see it lying a few feet away, out of reach. He heard a second voice say they’d dial 911 and he gave up trying to move; his head had hit the ground with a dull thud and his thoughts were beginning to swim, his vision darkening.

He blinked back into consciousness with an EMT kneeling over him, asking his name, but his thoughts were all out of order, he was trying to piece together what had happened. “I didn’t get the plate,” he said, then groaned at the pain forming on his lower right side.

“Don’t worry about that now,” the EMT said, trying to get him to look at her, “You’re okay. What’s your name?”

“Sonny,” he bit out through gritted teeth, “I need to call-”

“We’ll call your next of kin when we get you to the hospital. We’re gonna move you now Sonny, and it’s going to hurt.”

He wanted to protest - he knew there were other things to think about - the car, the driver - he was on the sidewalk, the driver didn’t stop. It couldn’t have been an accident. He needed to remember. Had he seen the driver? He wasn’t even sure what kind of car it had been. The ache in his ribs worsened every time he opened his mouth, and he was in no position to raise any viable objections as the EMTs gently rolled him over and carried him into the back of the ambulance; his leg searing with pain with every movement. He raised his head enough to look down and almost passed out again at the sight of bone poking through his skin.

“You’re okay,” the EMT said again as he dropped his head back down. In the back of the ambulance, his stomach churning, his thoughts whirring, and his head throbbing he couldn’t focus - the lights overhead blurred in and out and he closed his eyes against the harsh fluorescence. “I’m just going to give you some pain relief, Sonny, okay?” the EMT said; he wasn’t sure if he responded, but after a moment he felt a needle in his arm, and he let himself drift away again.

The next time he awoke he was in a sterile, white hospital room, monitors beeping beside him and, much to his surprise, Hadid standing at his bedside looking out of place and like she’d rather be just about anywhere else. He glanced just beyond her out of the window; the sky was darkening - he didn’t know how long he’d been out but it must have been several hours. Sienna would have picked Billie and Jesse up by now; he was supposed to be home with them. He shifted, pushing himself upright and biting back a jolt of pain in his side. His leg was heavy as he tried to move it and he looked down to see it was weighed down with a cast from just below his knee all the way to his toes.

“Are you okay?” Hadid asked, breaking him from his thoughts.

“What are you doin’ here?” he asked, then corrected himself, “I mean-”

Hadid held up a hand, shaking her head, “They got your ID badge from your jacket, called the office.”

Sonny frowned; that didn’t answer his question, and Hadid must have realised that because she continued, “I spoke to Captain Benson and she’s going to let Detective Rollins know as soon as she gets back to the city. I’m sure she’s already on her way.”

“You didn’t have to stay,” Sonny said, caught extremely off guard by his boss hovering next to his hospital bed.

“It didn’t seem fair to let you wake up alone. And your HR file doesn’t have any family contacts in it.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “No sense in worryin’ them if somethin’ happens.”

“Like this?” Hadid said, “It was a hit and run; the police are going to want to speak to you.”

He nodded, “I know. It- I don’t think it was an accident.”

“It does seem like you were targeted,” Hadid said, crossing her arms across her chest - Sonny thought he saw something like guilt in her eyes; it was a strange experience, this humanising of Vanessa Hadid. She was his boss; if a case she'd given him was the reason he’d ended up here she probably felt responsible.

“It’s not your fault,” he said, “Could be anythin’. An old case, something from organised crime even. And I’m okay.”

“I’ll tell the doctors you're awake,” Hadid said, “I’ll let you rest. I’m not expecting to see you in work for a while,” she told him; she gave a brief nod and then left the room.

Minutes later he was distracted from his thoughts by the appearance of the doctor - she explained his injuries to him - compound fracture to his right tibia, four broken ribs, and a concussion from smacking into the concrete head first. “You’re a lucky man,” she said with a smile.

“Oh, I feel it,” Sonny said jokingly - and then he meant it, because he heard Amanda’s voice out in the hall asking for him - fraught with worry and impatience, and he realised - not for the first time - just how lucky he was. The doctor turned her head towards the door.

“Someone special?”

He nodded, “Yeah. Can I-”

“I’ll let her in.”

Even with her face lined with worry, her hair thrown up haphazardly and the weight of a long day on her shoulders, Amanda was still a sight for his sore eyes - he held a hand out towards her as she came into the room and she was by his side in an instant, gripping tightly to his hand, her other reaching up to his face, thumb tracing the bruising across his cheek.

“Dominick,” she whispered it like she was grateful she got to, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he assured her, “I’m not lookin’ my best but-”

She shook her head, laughing even as tears formed in her eyes and she pressed her lips to his, “What happened? I was worried when you didn’t show up for lunch, and then we had to go out to New Jersey and-”

“Hey,” he placed his left hand on top of hers on his cheek, “It’s okay. I’m gonna be just fine.”

Amanda nodded, pulling away and sitting in the empty chair beside his bed, furiously swiping at the tears under her eyes - a futile endeavour as more began to fall, “So, what happened?”

It was two days before they let him out of the hospital - two days of lying in that bed feeling sorry for himself; bored out of his mind because Hadid wouldn’t even send him work he could do remotely. He spoke with detectives assigned to his case - two old school cops, inches from retirement with little to no interest in what he had to say until they realised this was probably connected to an SVU case they could bounce right back. No threats had been made, no one else had been hurt. Amanda, Fin and Kat had trawled through his pending case log, trying to see who might want to knock him out of action, but nothing stood out. They’d have to play a longer game on this one - and he’d have to keep his eyes off of his new phone - his old one all but destroyed flying several feet down the sidewalk and landing with a crash that put a deep crack right through the photo of Amanda and Billie he had set as his lock screen - as he moved around the city.

He wasn’t worried about being targeted again - firstly because he was probably going to be stuck indoors for the next couple of weeks - or at least not venturing out alone - and secondly because he knew it was only a matter of time before SVU found out who was responsible.

Amanda picked him up from the hospital on Thursday afternoon, and walked patiently alongside him as he tried to master his new crutches; she only made one invalid joke, and it was a good one so he let it slide.

When they got back to her apartment building he was more grateful than he’d ever been that her building had an elevator. And grateful that almost all of his belongings had migrated over here, too, because his building’s elevator had been about to be installed since before he’d moved in two years ago.

A chorus of delight greeted him when he followed Amanda into the apartment - a Jesse-made banner hanging behind the couch, balloons bouncing around the room - their friends making themselves at home amongst his and Amanda’s things, and in the middle of it all two very excited little girls who came running towards him, only to be stopped in their tracks by their godmother before they knocked him completely off balance. He gave Liv a thankful smile before he looked down at the two of them.

Billie stepped towards him, curling her arms around his uninjured leg and gripping tightly to the fabric of his pants. “Stay now,” she said firmly, and he reached down to stroke her hair, leaning awkwardly on one crutch - Amanda was by his side, balancing him out like she always did - a little more literally this time.

Jesse stood beside Liv, her eyes wide as she looked at the cast on his leg, her voice catching as she whispered, “Are you okay?

He would’ve crouched down to her height if he could have, but he settled for giving her a warm smile, “I am now,” he said, “Did you make me that banner?”

She nodded shyly, still not approaching him, and Amanda reached out an arm to her, “How about we help Uncle Sonny over to the couch and you can sit with him?” she suggested, and Jesse nodded, still biting her lip.

With a little help extracting Billie from his leg - Kat risking the wrath of a two-year-old who’d missed her godfather to lift her into the air - he managed to make it over to the couch, propping the crutches up against the side as he sunk back into the cushions, relieved to be home at last.

Things wouldn’t be back to normal for a while - he’d be stuck in the cast for six weeks, trying to negotiate with Hadid over when he could get back into the courtroom - the case would be investigated, they’d find out who hit him, and why - he’d prosecute them, or someone else would. Then they could get on with life - and maybe the doctor was right about just how lucky he was - even with his leg propped up on Amanda’s coffee table while Billie screamed in his ear and Jesse curled sadly into his side - it was worth it to see Amanda watching on with so much fondness he would’ve kissed the smile right off her face if he could get across the room.

[talesofnox]

(Yes I did the editing. like it or love it?)

word count: 1515

tags: newsies, newsies live, newsie movie, kid blink, kid blink newsies, newsies writing, newsies headcanon, newsies imagine, newsies fluff, newsies fanfiction, newsies blurb, newsies oneshot, newsies drabble, kid blink oneshot, kid blink imagine, kid blink drabble, kid blink fanfiction, kid blink headcanon, writing, oneshot, imagine, drabble, fanfiction, blurb, headcanon

a/n: I do not know any of the characters’ actors personally, nor do I own the rights to their characters. What’s written below the tag is a work of fiction and should subsequently be treated as such. I am essentially using the actors as a face-claim and almost never, a name-claim. I am creating my own character and using the actor / character as a secondary fictional character, using features for details. I do not and never would directly associate the actors with any ideas used in my own writing. This writing is to be used for entertainment and fictional purposes only. Thank you for understanding and if you do not understand, fuck off, please and not thank you.

Newsie Headcanon

THE STORY OF NEWSIES LIVE: KID BLINK

So…Newsie Live: Kid Blink

He does not wear an eyepatch on his face (most likely so it is easier for Andy to dance)

We get to sea him directly about 57 minutes into the show, where he is retrieving his block of papers from Wiesel

But, God damn it(‘scuse my language), he is a scab at this point in time, but we never get to know the canon reason he does not where an eyepatch, so I came up with a Headcanon about why exactly the newsies call him Kid Blink

FLASHBACK

Blink was young when he joined the street rats as a newsie, maybe 7 at the time

His father had been absent for most of his life

He lived with his mother who worked in a brothel in New Jersey

She was an amazing mom, never even giving a hint to any of her clients that Blink (Or if we’re using his birth name, Mason) existed

His special hiding spot was the large cupboard in the corner of the brothel owner’s office

(she was a lovely woman who did not even bat an eye when Blink’s mother showed up with him)

Blink’s mother was paranoid and constantly cautious—she could never live with herself if someone reported her, and the police were sent to take Blink away from her

So, she taught him morse code so they could communicate id there were any customers in hearing radius

Blink became so talented in the silent language that the two could have full conversation by the time he was 4 years old

MOVING FORWARD

Blink’s mother sometimes had aggressive customers, but nothing would ever compare to the last one

As it had turned out, Blink’s never-present father had left, running away to the Bronx and taking a new wife

The new woman became pregnant and the two were happy

Until she and the baby girl passed away in the middle of the birth due to bleeding complications

Newspapers tell the rest of the story: Blink’s father went ballistic when he heard the news

He grabbed a pistol he kept hidden in a couch-side cabinet and did not hesitate to shoot the assisting midwife

The shot alerted the head midwife and she appeared in the doorway, but before she could even get a sound out, she too, was shot in the head, and dies instantly

The man ran in the dead of night, having discovered from an old gambling buddy where his ex-wife and son had disappeared to

Blink’s mother did not have any customers, and as a result, they liked to sit in her room upstairs speaking in morse code when they heard a scuffle downstairs

There was a series of pops before a stomping on the stairs echoed throughout the house

Blink’s father appeared in the doorway, the pistol in his hand and multiple specks of blood splattered across his lips and face

Blink was told to run

He did so, but thought his mother had been behind him the entire time

He heard a deafening pop, and suddenly, he had been knocked over by the dead weight of his mother’s body

He screamed, a shrill cry as he burst into tears, struggling to push his mother off of his bruising form

His father approached him next but was tackled from behind by a gaggle of police constables

He was taken away and Blink was lifted away from his mother, kicking and crying out for his ‘mommy,’ he just wanted his mommy

He began to calm down, and so, the policemen holding his arms loosened their grips and eventually, let him walk freely

Blink did not hesitate to run; in fact, he jumped out the two-story window, and landed on the fire escape

He scaled the ladders as fast as he could through the many alleyways

All he could hear were the muffled shouts calling for him to come back

Everything else was just…silent, he could not pinpoint what was happening to him, but all sound came back in full force when he finally collapsed in an alley 3 miles from the brothel

Blink spent another few weeks traveling through the state and eventually made it into the busier part of New York City, Manhattan, to be more specific

He never got word if his father had been arrested or not, which made him paranoid that he hadn’t and was free to walk the streets and find him one day

Everything’s legal in Jersey, am I right?

Blink eventually stumbled his way into Newsie Square about midday, meaning no newsies were there to see him

He went to look at the World Distribution Center gates but before he could get past the Horace Greely Statue, he was tugged by his collar

Two older boys (about 9 and 10, and looking much too similar to not be related) stood in front of him, looking menacing but nervous at the same time, as if they were regretting what they were about to do

The two brothers / cousins—Blink did not know— roughed him up a bit and giving himself a black eye and a shallow cut on his lip and cheek

Before the one who had been called Morris, could kick his sternum again, a group of shadows appeared at the alley entrance

A young newsie, his face and arms strew from paint smears, had seen the fight, and ran off to find his leaders

He returned with a group of older boys who approached the trio

Morris and Oscar (as Morris had named him) stood slack as they looked at the newsies before they moved away from Blink

No one noticed the way Blink scooted backwards into a corner

Oscar and Morris left the alley in a rush, being chased down the street by a few younger newsies behind them

The boy with the paint on him was the first one to approach Blink, joining him in the corner by sitting crisscross in front of the timid boy

He introduced himself as Jack—near ten at the time

Jack asked Blink a few questions, but became baffled when all Blink would give as an answer was blinking his eyes

It was most likely that Blink was saying SOS or some other message relating to him desperately wanting some form of help, but Jack did not understand

One of the older boys got the hint that Blink would not answer any questions he could not shake his head to, and bent down next to Jack, asking Blink if he had a family, and after telling them no, Blink agreed to head back to the Newsboy’s Lodging House with them

Blink followed them out of the alley and was greeted by another small newsboy

He wore a grey flat cap and fiddled with a large cigar he pulled from his overshirts pocket

The boy introduced himself as Racetrack—a strange name, he later explained, he was christened with when he was found to be following an older boy to the Sheepshead Races every few days after selling

Race asked what Blink’s name was, not knowing he did not speak

When Blink only coded SOS once more, Race locked at him, astonished; he thought Blink’s way of speaking was amazing

The large group of boys tumbled their way down the cobblestone streets back to the lodging house, Blink on another boy’s—Spoons was his name—back when Race stopped in his tracks before grinning goofily and shaking his head, his curly blonde hair jumping with his glee

“I know! Wese should call ya’ Blink! Cause ya’ don’t talk, only blink ya’ eyes to ansah.”

Apparently, Race was a God, because all the boys started cheering and, once they got through the house up to the bunk room, Spoons plopped Blink down on a hard mattress and slapped an oversized cap on his head

Blink had no complaints with the name, instead smiling and welcoming it over his birth name any day

Most of the younger boys only called him simply ‘Blink,’ but most of the older boys coined the name, ‘Kid Blink’

Blink stayed mute for nearly a year, before he finally uttered his first words to the newsboys

He explained his birth name, but only his first, but all the boys already called him Blink so when someone randomly called him Mason, all the others were just like, “Who?”

Years go by, and he stays a newsie, becoming best friends with a boy name Mush—named for his simpleton-like comments at times—and they stayed selling partners for a long time before they became too old to sell together

[smol-and-grumpy]

Golden Cage - Chapter.11

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She’s a spoiled little princess — at least that’s what people say. Her father is the King of all Kings, the man who everyone fears. Then, along comes Dean Winchester, the one guy who manages to see into her soul, but — — is Dean really who he says he is?

Chapter Warnings: Teasing, violence, angst

WC: 5607

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons​​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Y/N’s in Dean’s bedroom, getting herself ready while Dean talks on the phone. It rang after he came out of the shower and he walked into the living room. She doesn’t know if it’s to give her privacy or if he doesn’t want her to hear. Either way, she doesn’t have time to dwell on it because she has to get herself ready for a meeting. The first outing that she’s allowed to have in the name of the family. 

Her clothes are all laid out on the bed and while she applies moisturizer to her body. She puts the outfits together in her mind, thinking about what would suit her best, what would be the best outfit that’ll show that she means it. An outfit that shows that she’s a woman who can keep up with the men. Nothing too revealing, she guesses, but something fierce enough to make them gasp. Her mind’s setting on the pencil leather skirt, now she just has to see what blouse would fit best with her skirt and the shoes she’s packed.

Dean’s still talking outside and she hears that he’s trying to keep his voice down. She slips into her panties. The fabric of the little garment rubs a little too hard against her sensitive clit. She thinks about ditching them later, wonders if it would matter. Nobody will know if she’s wearing panties or not, right? Also, there’s chafing from Dean’s scruff that doesn’t support the argument of her having to wear panties. She’s sensitive all over, feels like her nipples are raw from his sucking, too. God, that man will definitely be the death of her, but it’s not like she minds. 

Everything is super sensitive now because they did it again in the shower. Dean’s shower is not as spacious as the shower at her home, but they made it fit and he fucked her standing up against the wall, pressing her back into the tiles and hooked one arm below her knees, lifting her leg up while he rubbed at her clit.

Blood rushes to her head again when she thinks about it. 

So now, she’s standing here, and debates between two blouses. One’s white with long flowing arms and the other one’s red, sleeveless, with a bow around her neck. 

She can’t possibly make up her mind because she likes them both, so she decides to ask Dean. He knows exactly where they are going, he would know what would fit, wouldn’t he? 

Still in only her panties, she clutches the blouses to her chest to hide that little modesty she still possesses, even though she knows that Dean’s seen it all already anyway, and he probably likes her best without any clothes on at all. Knows it, because he had stated it a couple of times, and it always makes her flustered all over.

Dean’s standing at the dining table and her cheeks get hot again thinking about what they’ve done on there. He’s not dressed either, a towel hanging dangerously low around his hips, making him look absolutely delicious with damp ruffled up hair. The scars on his body have a certain edge to them, but the freckles round the edges up. He’s devine and that’s not really fair. He has no business being so perfect.

Biting on her bottom lip, she approaches him, but he’s not paying her attention. He’s looking down to the hand that fidgets around the back of a chair. It’s as if he’s a little nervous, a little on edge.

“Hey,” She hisses and Dean frowns, but still he doesn’t look.

“Dean!” She tries again and he only holds a forefinger up at her to shush her while he concentrates on listening to the conversation. He still doesn’t look up at her. It’s as if he tries to avoid her at any cost.

Rolling her eyes, she tries to think of a way to get his attention, grinning when she gets a flash of an idea. 

Y/N drops the blouses to the floor and shows him her boobs, “Hey!” She hisses again, louder, while she squeezes them together and jiggles them around. 

Well, she gets his attention now, but he’s looking less than amused. Dean frowns, and waves at her to stop. 

Then she hears it. 

“Yes, sir, goodbye.”

Fuck.

He’s talking to her dad. 

And she just flashed him.

Dean hangs up and sets the phone onto the table and exhales deeply before he rubs a hand over his face.

He turns to her after and speaks. His voice is loud and he sounds annoyed, “Jesus fucking Christ, princess!”

Oh, so now she’s back to being princess. She guesses that when he’s upset with her, she’s forever going to be princess to him.

“You can’t just show me your tits when I talk to your father! Fuck, now every time I talk to him I’ll see them in my mind!” He growls low.

She’s smirking and tries not to laugh because honestly, that is a little funny?

Dean begs to differ though, because he strolls closer. One hand goes below her chin, fingers cupping it and turns it upwards to meet his eyes while his other hand cups around one of her tits, palms kneading, fingers pinching at her nipple, she squirms.

“What is it that couldn’t possibly wait until I’m finished with a call?”

“I don’t know what to wear,” She mumbles and Dean groans out in frustration before he bends down to kiss her. 

“You know,” He says when he parts, his hands leaving her completely to pick up her blouses from the floor, “One day, you’re going to kill me with your bratty behavior.”

She grins as he hands the blouse to her, “You like it, though?”

At least she hopes he does. Like, he knew what he had gotten himself into when it all started, so he really can’t blame her for acting the way she does.

He rolls his eyes briefly, but it’s all fake because he’s grinning now when he bends down to peck her lips, “Love it.” 

Smiling, she holds up the blouses and lifts her eyebrows. 

“White.” He nods toward the white blouse, “Although I would love to see the red on you, but I think white would suit better tonight. Makes you look more like someone to take seriously and not some eye candy hanging off someone’s arm.”

“Thanks,” She says and thinks that’s what she likes about Dean. He says things like it is, doesn’t sugarcoat it and he’s not just babbling to shut her up. 

“Go get dressed before I can’t hold myself back from taking you all over again.” He smacks her ass on his way to the bathroom.

“Who said I would mind that?” Y/N calls after him and Dean chuckles.

  She almost threw him off his balance with her jiggly tits. It’s not really fair. And really, he hopes that her tits won’t be the first thing that comes to his mind when he sees Azazel’s caller ID.

The boss had informed him that Benny would be at the meeting too and that rubs him the wrong way. What’s so fucking important for Benny to be there anyway? Azazel made it clear that Benny’s not allowed to interfere with Dean’s business, but Dean will only believe it when he sees it. 

He’s gnawing on his bottom lip as they drive towards Atlantic City. 

It’s a two hour drive and they made it halfway when she turned in her seat. The leather underneath her ass makes a loud sound. That’s right, she’s wearing leather. He almost choked on his own drool when he saw it. 

Dean gets weak for leather. Especially for her in leather. The skirts so tight it accentuates her round ass. He couldn’t help but spank down on it a couple of times while they walked down the stairs from his apartment. Every time she would stop and stare at him with a rolling of her eyes and every time, Dean would giggle like an idiot. 

It’s good between them. They’re relaxed. He likes that. Would like to keep it that way, but he knows that it’s just only the start of a hardship he might have to go through. She might have to go through. 

After they laid in his bed for a while, with her in his arms, he stroked her back, with neither of them speaking. Sometimes there’s just nothing to say and he liked that the most. The comfortable silence. There were no sorry excuses, no thoughts of having made a mistake, no small talk just to get over the awkwardness of the situation after the lust has worn out. And that was the moment that he thought about the future for the first time. That he could just grab her and run away. Nobody would know, nobody would find them. It would be good, he just knows it. It’s only — Dean doesn’t know if she would want it. If she was even ready to leave everything behind, and the last thing he wants to be is selfish. But yeah, maybe he would do it all for her, leave everything behind and screw up the Bureau for a woman. Which is really a stupid thing to do, but it would probably be worth it. 

They drive past a big advertisement for Roman Empire. It’s the biggest and apparently the best casino in Atlantic City. Of course, it is. The Roman’s wouldn’t settle for second best.

“We’re going to meet the Roman’s?” She asks curiously, and Dean can hear it in her tone of voice that she’s not really keen on meeting them. 

“Yeah, they have some proposals.”

“They’re dicks.” She mumbles under her breath.

Dean has to chuckle at that, because she’s not wrong. The Roman’s are the number one mob family in Atlantic City. They are the equivalent to the Lehne’s. They own every casino, hell, they even own New Jersey. Their wealth is immense. 

He cocks an eyebrow at her, “You’ve met them?” 

“Yeah, at gatherings where Dad allowed me to attend. Dick is a real big dick. I heard he moved to California, set up his own thing there. His father is a sleazeball.”

“I know,” Dean reaches over, takes her hand in his, “Just, don’t let your emotions overrule your head, okay? We’re there to make deals.”

“Ugh,” She groans with an eye roll.

“That’s the spirit,” He smirks and takes her hand, places it to his lips to kiss it quickly. 

She sighs, “What if he touches me?” 

“Who?”

“Zachariah, Dick. Both of them.”

Frowning, Dean looks over to her, “Have they done that before?”

“Yeah,”

Dean’s grip tightens around her hand. Jesus, he feels like punching something all of a sudden. 

His voice is deep, and he growls a little when he speaks again, “Does your father know that they have touched you inappropriately?” 

“He was right there.” 

Fucking Christ, now he really wants to shoot someone. His heart absolutely aches for what she had to go through growing up in this family. Growing up in a world reigned by men. It’s not a great environment for a girl to grow up.

“I’ll put them in their place if they do,” Dean says. It’s the only thing he can say, really. He can’t erase the past, but he can make sure that he’s here in the present.

“What if you aren’t there?”

Dean catches a glimpse of her little pout when the street light illuminates up the inside of the car.

“I’ll always be beside you.” He assures her, because yeah, after finding out that piece of information, he doesn’t really have the urge to leave her unattended at all.

“Promise?” 

He places another kiss on the back of her hand, “Promise.”

 *

 They arrive and Dean gets out of the car, walks around to open up the passenger side for her, and holds out a hand to help her out. 

“You know they have valet parking, right?” She asks before she takes his hand.

Dean shrugs, “I feel better knowing where my car is and can reach it at all times.”

She only frowns a little as she gets out.

“Remember, no weapons.” He says as she’s standing before him.

She waves her clutch around, “Duh, how can I fit that into my clutch?”

“Y/N,” Dean looks at her sternly. She thinks he’s joking but really, he’s not. It’s the rule. No fucking weapons when they come in peace. The Lehni’s have the same rule and it’s only fair that they play by the Roman’s rule, even though Dean hates the rule himself. He looks at her again, cocks one eyebrow because she’s still looking at him like she’s innocent. Dean hates that look because she’s not. She’s not innocent when she grins up at him while she licks at his asshole, she’s not innocent when she moans for him to fuck her harder. No, she’s not and he shouldn’t get weak, “Put your gun back. Now.”

Rolling her eyes back dramatically, she lets out a loud sigh. Dean has to hold back a chuckle. He watches her lift up her leather skirt, watches her take out her gun from her holster, and turns around to put it into the glove compartment of his car. 

“How did you know?” She whines when she turns back to him, bracing her arms across her chest and fucking pouts. 

“I’m just good like that,” He grins cockily before he weaves an arm around her waist to help steady her in her heels as he guides her towards the entrance of the casino.

 *

 They are led into the back of the casino, where there’s a strip club. Dean has since taken his arms from around her waist because it’s back to acting like they aren’t more than what they are. It pains him a little. Irritates him a whole lot. And from the way her body’s drawn to him, leaving him no space, he can see that she’s not entirely happy about it either. 

He leans closer, nose brushing against her temple, “Just this, okay? I’m right here.” 

She seems to nod. Dean can’t really see it because she’s following the employee who’s walking ahead and he waits a couple of seconds, walking a safe distance after her. 

The door to the strip club opens and loud music spills out of it. The room is dark, neon lights everywhere. It’s a tad over the top, he thinks. A little cheap, like who the hell uses neon lights nowadays anyway? It makes him feel like he’s in a dingy strip club and not a high-end one. 

Dean seems to be the only one who thinks it’s tacky because the club is packed. There are girls dancing on stage, girls grinding on men’s lap and he notices Y/N stalling by the door. She doesn’t look comfortable at all. 

He reaches out, touches her arm, “I’m going first,” He whispers, “Follow me,” 

She does, follows him and catches up to him pretty quickly. They are walking beside each other now and she takes glances left and right while they still follow the employee around. 

“You've been to a strip club before?” She asks underneath her breath. 

“Yeah,” He chuckles.

“Huh,” 

“Not lately, though.” Dean tries to talk himself out of his mistake, but he knows that he’ll probably get an earful when they’re alone. 

“Huh,”

She crosses her arms over her chest while they walk and he thinks it’s adorable how she’s jealous. It makes him a little proud to know that he’s not the only one feeling the things he does. 

The employee leads them along across the club, and there were a couple of girls who gave him the eye, some of them make themselves known by bumping into him. Dean tries his best not to look. Tries to fucking stay focused and walk on because he’s here to do his job and well, maybe it’s also because he doesn’t want to upset her. It’s not like he’s interested anyway. Not when the girl he actually wants sitting on his lap is her. 

Y/N only rolls her eyes as she sees him trailing along, and Dean smirks, which earned him another eye roll. He thinks it’s cute. She’d deny. 

They were led onto the second floor where there was a group of chairs sitting around a table. They spot Benny and his two right-hand men Ed and Nick. Nick has risen up in his ranks, as Dean can see. What Dean didn’t account for was to see Azazel sitting with them, his two bodyguards standing behind him. Women in skimpy bikinis are serving them drinks and there’s one sitting on Nick’s lap. 

“You didn’t tell me they’d all be here,” Y/N whispers through her gritted teeth, loud enough for him to hear.

“I didn’t know about your dad, okay?” 

“But you knew about Benny?” 

“Yeah, from the phone call which you flashed me your fucking tits.” Dean hisses while they walk over slowly, so they can have this exchange of words. 

They both try to smirk while not letting people see that they are talking to each other.

“Oh, please,” She chuckles, “You love them.”

“I’d love them more if I wasn’t associating them with your dad,” He says and nods at the waitress who just walked past him. 

“I wish you would have told me at least about Benny.”

“Why? Would that have changed your mind?” 

“No, but I would have worn fucking panties.”

Dean stops mid-stride and she looks back at him with a grin. He watches her walk up to her people, greeting them and taking a seat next to her father. 

He wished that she would have kept that fucking detail to herself, though. Now he won’t be able to think of anything else than her sitting there with nothing underneath her fucking leather skirt. And she’s probably still dripping his cum while she looks her father straight in his eyes. 

This is pure torture and he’s been tested, he knows. 

This fucking girl.

  Y/N greets her dad with a kiss to his cheek and sits down, only nodding to the other men around. 

“I think you should leave,” She says to the girl in Nick’s lap, even before Dean sits down and the stripper looks at her in bewilderment. She smiles politely, “You heard me.” 

“I’ll tell her to leave whenever I want,” Nick snarls.

“And I’m telling her to leave now. It’s not a fucking party, Nick. We’re here for business.” She says firmly, stands by her point that nobody should listen in. They can’t be careful enough with possible snitches around. 

Dean sits down next to her, rights his suit jacket and nods towards Nick, “You heard the lady, man. Ditch the stripper,”

Nick gasps and looks over to Benny for some back up but Benny ignores him completely. Reluctantly, he pushes the stripper away and the girl stands up and struts away angrily. 

“Since when does she call the shots around here— Ow!” Nick yelps out and everyone knows that Benny kicked him under the table. 

God, her dad really works with an immature bunch of men, doesn’t he? 

Her dad leans towards her, whispering in her ear and she tunes out all the other ramblings she hears from Nick, “You’re doing good. It’s a whole new side I see. I like it. Did Dean explain to you and teach you what tonight’s all about?” 

“Yes, he did.” She tries to not think about other things he taught her about, the things that make her whimper in pleasure.

“Good,” Her dad nods.

Five minutes passed until a big bulky bodyguard walks in and calls for them. Zachariah is ready to meet. 

They have been led through another door where they step into an elevator. The eight of them, plus the bodyguard, stand close, chest to chest and she’s glad Nick and his filthy hands were far away from her, glad that it’s Dean who’s next to her, not so glad that her dad is on her other side of her. 

Y/N feels something warm between her legs, feels Dean’s cum trickling out thickly, has to squint her eyes and frowns a little. Of course Dean notices, looking down at her and raises his eyebrows. She doesn’t say anything, can’t possibly talk when everyone can hear her.

When they arrive, everyone scrambles to get out of the confined space pretty quickly, but Dean stays.

He looks down with worried eyes, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” She says, “Your cum dripped out. I might need some tissues.” 

“Jesus,” Dean mutters under his breath and shakes his head as he steps out of the elevator.

She can’t help but grin as she catches up with the lot. 

  Goddamnit, he’s really being tested right now. How can he sit still and concentrate when he knows she fucking leaks him while sitting next to her fucking father? 

She’s going to be the death of him, Dean just knows it. 

They arrive at a heavy door, which is held up by two other big bulky men and they step in, where Zachariah is already waiting, sitting at a big round table with his son. The table only fits six, so Azazel takes a seat, beckons for his daughter and Dean. Benny takes a seat too and Dean still hasn’t figured out why the hell the dude’s here.

“Do the two losers need to be here?” Zachariah asks into the round, pointing his chin towards Ed and Nick and all eyes are on Benny. 

“Uh, no, they don’t.” The man says and Dean has to hold himself back not to speak that Benny too, doesn’t have any business to be here. 

“Then they should leave. Go to the club. My treat.” Zachariah says with a sleazy grin. 

Y/N was right when she said that he’s a sleazeball. Dean has to smirk a little thinking back on how she said it. 

The two men’s faces light up and they immediately disappear, muttering something about a lapdance while Benny shakes his head. Benny’s probably questioning his entourage right now. A bunch of unprofessionals is what they are.

“Why are you here?” Zachariah asks and he stares at Y/N, his tongue darts out to lick his lips and Dean balls his hands into fists. God, he would just love to punch that fucker for looking at her like that. 

“She’s dipping her toes into the business, Zach,” Azazel says, and maybe Dean’s mistaken, but he can hear something in the tone of his voice. Something that says that Azazel’s a little proud.

“Sweetheart, you shouldn’t be doing this,” Dick, who hasn’t said a word until now says, smirking a little, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Spending daddy’s cash or organizing some catering for parties?”

Dean’s lips are already parted, he already wanted to put Dick into place, but Y/N cuts him off.

“I actually do have better things to do, yes. But you wanted a meeting and that’s why we’re here. Can’t choose where you’re born into, can you, Dick? I bet you have better things to do in California as well.”

She says it with a calm voice, but he knows that she’s not. Her hands are shaking a little and he knows that she wanted to say so much more. She wanted to run her mouth, put Dick into place, but she chose to stay professional. He absolutely admires her. Dean lays a hand on her thigh under the table, some kind of a reassurance that he’s here. A way of telling her that she’s doing great so far.

Dick looks at her father, a frown on his face and Zach just clears his throat, “Right, so shall we? We want to get this over with before we go to the next part which is more relaxing to me.”

Dean doesn’t even know that there’s a next part, but he agrees that he too, wants to get this over with. 

“We’ve been in contact with Winchester before,” Zach nods at Dean and Dean nods back, “We have not one but three shipments on their way over from China. It’s the biggest deal we’ve ever made with the Chinese. All we need are some old warehouses where we can set up labs.”

“You don’t have enough of this in New Jersey?” Azazel asks and Dean knows why. Azazel is keen on dealing but not keen on cooking the drugs himself. 

Zach laughs heartily and elbows his son who starts to laugh too, “No we don’t. Not for that amount of goods,”

“How many are we talking about?” It’s Benny who asks. 

“About sixty to seventy warehouses.” 

Azazel whistles under his breath, “That’s a lot.” 

“It’s a lot of money we can make.” Dick chimes in.

The King clicks his tongue and exhales loudly, “What’s our cut?”

“We will provide the infrastructure, provide the cooks and the people manning the warehouse. We will pay you rent.” Dick says, and adds, “But we know that you don’t like to have your fingers deep in cooking so we’ll reward you for renting it out to us. 30% of the profit.”

“That’s how much?” It’s Y/N who asks. Dean’s a little proud, a little stunned too that she followed the conversation. Well, he knows that she’s not dumb but they don’t. Everyone is looking at her now and notice that she’s still here.

“Roughly about $600k a month,” Zach says proudly. 

“So, say, we let you rent seventy warehouses and you make $30k a month per warehouse. That would mean you make over $2m a month and will give us our $600k cut,” Y/N calculates it in her head, “How can you be so sure that you’re going to make that much money?”

“Girl can do some math, congratulations!” Zach shouts out in mockery and really, Dean has to fucking hold himself back, “We know this because it’s not the first time we’ve cooked, sweetheart.” 

“And why only 30% then? We have more risks, people are disposable, warehouses aren’t. If they find a warehouse, it will somehow lead back to us. We have more risk than you do, I’d think we need to raise the stake.” She drums on her notepad with her ballpoint pen while she cocks an eyebrow at Zach and Dick. 

Christ, Dean finds that side of her highly attractive. It turns him on when she has them by the balls. 

“What do you suggest?” Dick looks at her with a smug grin on his face. 

“50%,”

“What?” Zach spits and Dick has to calm his father down, laying a hand on Zach’s arm. 

“What’s your guarantee for us?” Dick asks as he feels his dad calming down enough. 

She looks into the round and Dean just knows that she has something in mind. He can see from the glint in her eyes, sees it in how her lips curve up into a smile. 

Tonight before they left, she wanted to look at the files and she sat there for an hour, looking through what little information Dean had, and when she finished, she started to smile and that’s when Dean knew that she wanted to lead the deal and he knew that he’d gladly let her. It’s also for her to show her dad that she’s capable, that maybe Azazel doesn’t have to tighten the leash around her as much as he had. That maybe, when this deal is a success, she’ll get to have more rights, gets to have her own car, gets to have a little freedom. Dean fully supports it.

Dean hands her the documents with a nod and she smiles at him. Her dad cocks an eyebrow while Benny frowns. They have no idea what’s going to hit them. Well, he doesn’t really know either, because she wouldn’t tell him, but he trusts her. 

Y/N rolls out the map of the city where she had circled warehouses they own in red circles. She stands up and braces her hands on the table, “As you can see, we own 120 warehouses and counting.”

“Did you know we own that much?” Azazel whispers to Dean behind her back and he shrugs. 

He did, Azazel doesn’t have to know it, though.

They sit in silence when Y/N continues, “My idea is to move production around. Never stay in one place for too long. That will be less suspicious for the neighborhood of the warehouses. That way, the chance of getting busted is as good as zero.” 

“But that’s a lot of moving infrastructure around.” Dick states.

“Would you rather you get busted?” Dean chimes in, he just had to, “When they get us, they’ll get you.”

“No, of course not.”

“Here’s my offer,” Y/N says and sits down, folds her arms on the table while she looks Zachariah straight in the eye, “120 warehouses to do as you please. Only seventy will be occupied at the same time, not more, not less. 50% of your profit.” 

They are all holding their breath as they watch Zach and Dick turn in their chairs to whisper something into each other's ears. Dean reaches over under the table again, squeezes her thighs and she looks at him, grins a cocky grin. Jesus, maybe he just fell in love a little more than he already had. 

Azazel leans back in his chair and over to his daughter, “You did your homework, princess. I’m proud.”

Her face beams.

It’s adorable really how she longs to be recognized. How she wished to be heard all those years. It’s really sad too, and there’s the thing Dean feels in his gut again that makes him nauseous. Makes him want to protect her at all cost and show her that she’s worth fucking everything. 

“Okay,” Zach says after clearing his throat, “Congratulations, Y/N, you got yourself a deal there. Our lawyers will be in contact.”

Her smile grows wide, and he can see that she’s all giddy. Dean really wants to take her into his arms but he knows that it’s uncalled for. That he shouldn’t act like he’s closer to her than what he is. 

Azazel nods his approval, smiling a little and it’s creepy. Dean had never seen the man smile before. 

“Great, onto the next part, the weapon deal, are you involved in that too?” Zach asks, and Dean knew that he missed something because he wasn’t involved either. 

“Nobody knows, because we just only talked about it briefly last time, Zach,” Azazel says. 

“Okay, then please everyone who’s not involved may leave the room.” Zachariah announces and Dean can only look at her. 

She has to leave and she knows it, even though he doesn’t want her to, but it’s not a made deal and she has no clue, she can’t stay, not when her dad is here, too. Subtly, she nods at him, as if she understands. 

“You can go to the club, Y/N, my treat!” Zach says, it’s more mockery than anything else and Dean really really wants to punch that fucking dude square in the face. 

 *

 The meeting is over quicker than he thought it would be. It’s just talks that bore him to death with weapon deals that aren’t even fixed yet. Dean really doesn’t know why she had to leave the room and he feels so fucking bad because he promised her that he’d be by her side. It’s a good thing that he had control over Dick and Zach, though. So at least they couldn’t have come on to her and touch her inappropriately. 

Everyone is making their way up the elevator, with Dick and Benny in deep conversation and Azazel and Zach. Apparently, Dick and Benny has some other issues to work through which Dean shouldn’t know about, but as hard as Dean tried to eavesdrop, he can’t make out a word because Zach was raving to Azazel about the casino and the strip club, inviting him to show him around because they have this new spa in the newly build wing where you can even gamble while relaxing. It’s ridiculous really. 

When they get out of the elevator, Azazel taps Dean on his shoulder, falls into step beside him, “Can you take my daughter home? I’ll probably stay the night and I don’t want her to wait and stay with me. I know she doesn’t like to be around them.” 

Dean knows who he means by them. So the little detail didn’t slip Azazel’s eyes and Dean’s actually quite glad that the man knows how uncomfortable the men are to his daughter.

“Of course,” Dean answers, has to fucking try not to show too much emotion. 

“Thanks,” The King nods, and places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze of approval. 

God, Dean doesn’t know if he’d still be thanking him if he knew that Dean’s already fucked his daughter not once but three times.

They make their way down the stairs to the club and already something seems off. The people are talking in hushed tones, the strippers aren’t stripping and the girls aren’t dancing.

Dean spots it then, spots her at the back, where Nick has pinned her against the wall, his hand around her throat. People around them watch in horror and Ed tries to talk Nick out of it, but the dude already lifts his hand and slaps her across the face. 

Chapter.12

[themonkeycabal]

WandaVision Ep 4 SPOILERS

Yes, spoilers, 

Wherein I watch and say stuff that might or might not be worth reading.

After a little bit of a lackluster start, there was good story progress last week. An escalation of weird, which I appreciated. I'll probably have to relive it, because Disney doesn't want to let me skip the previously. Ever. Why are you the way you are, Disney?

Geraldine/Monica is made of whispery voices and swirling dust and such. Weird. She's sitting in a chair, sleeping, and apparently being reconstituted. She wakes to a hospital room but outside is chaos. Lots of yelling and people running about. There's like swirling dust or human confetti everywhere, and other people are being reconstituted left and right. Seems unusual. Not the sort of thing that normally happens in hospitals. Oh, are they being un-snapped? The great un-snappening. The un-snapapalooza. The fall of the snappocalypse. I'll stop. I guess we're in a flashback of sorts.

Dudes, Monica just like full on hip checked some dude into the boards. She didn't mean it, but, damn, that guy went flying. Nobody knows what's going on, it's madness. A doctor recognizes her and asks where she went and Monica's all "uh, what? I took a nap?" Napping and then snapping and then popping back into existence. Ain't that just the way? Oh, sad, her mom died while she was missing for five years. :(

Sentient Weapon Observation Response Division — please nobody expect me to remember that. They have a Cape Canaveral looking compound with multiple launch pads and a very large hanger smack in the middle. Gee how neat for them that they get to operate out in the open, Phil Coulson says (in my head) with a whole lot of sarcasm.

Oh, right, they called it the Blip. The Great Un-Blippening. That doesn't sound as good. What on earth with the massive monitors in the main lobby. Nobody likes watching the news that much. Monica is trying to brazenly walk through the front doors with a badge that doesn't work and wow, security guy is kind of a dick. Oh, she belongs there. Captain Monica Rambeau. Captain, good for her.

And now security dick is revealed to be even more dickish, since this is just after the Blip and she's trying to go back to work. Like, SWORD couldn't put out a memo "Be on the lookout for recently unblipped personnel. Don't be massive dicks to them when their security badges don't work, because of how they got blipped and all"? Also maybe a reorientation packet, or like a desk out front "Back from the Blip? Talk to Lt. Mandy Smith in HR about your reactivation options today!" I'm just spitballing here. I get it was chaotic, but that's no reason to let the unblipped get a rude welcome. It wasn't their fault Thanos was critically dumb.

Blip no longer sounds like a word.

Anyway, the acting director is fortunately there to meet her before she could drop her gloves and punch the security dick in the dick. Aww, Maria Rambeau is on the Wall of Valor, or whatever they call it at SWORD.

Things aren't going well at SWORD. The Blip put the hurt on the division. Their remaining astronaut trainees have chickened out. Oh, what if there was like crew up in orbit that got blipped and then when they unblipped five years later … yikes. Well, I'll allow the 'lost their nerve' may have a solid basis in horribleness that probably occurred around the Blip. I retract the 'chickened out' comment.

This is a very long walk-and-talk. Maria Rambeau built SWORD "from the ground up". Bless.

The Director has grounded Monica. Well, actually, her mom grounded her, making protocols in case vanished personnel one day returned. Lol. Though, I mean, I'd guess she'd know, what with Carol and all.  "I know it's a raw deal, but there is one positive takeaway. She believed you'd come back." Awww

So, she's off to deal with some sort of missing persons case in New Jersey overseeing the loan of one of their drones for the FBI. I guess Wanda will be the missing person. Yep, she's off to Westview. Which has seen better days.

Hey! It's Agent Woo! I like you Agent Woo! Did I know he was in this? I don't remember. Randall Park's great. A happy surprise.

Hmm, he has a missing witness. So, not Wanda, then. Hmm again. Agent Woo contacted known associates, family, friends — none of them have ever heard of the witness. A mystery!

Oh and there's another wrinkle.

"Pardon me Sheriff, would you mind repeating your claim about Westview to my colleague here?"

"No such place," he says, standing next to the 'Welcome to Westview" sign.

Hmmm, puzzling. Jimmy Woo can't reach anybody listed as living in town. So, wait, the town doesn't exist, except it does, but, nobody thinks it does, so where did he get the phone records for residents? The phone company was just like "here's your records for the imaginary city of Westview, all 3,000+ residents that never existed, and yet we have the numbers and we're just not going to question that". Weird.

"So you can't reach anyone inside and everyone on the outside has some sort of selective amnesia?" That does seem to be the case, Monica. Super odd. Agent Woo is very sanguine about the whole thing. He dealt with Scott Lang, I guess after that everything else is like, 'meh'.

"Why haven't' you gone inside to investigate?" A fine question, Captain.

"Because it doesn't want me to." That's just creepy, Agent Woo. "You can feel it, too, can't you? Nobody's supposed to go in." I guess this is where the drone will come in handy. Oh, it's the little helicopter that Wanda found in the bushes in the second episode. I'm going to pretend that super advanced SWORD drones would totally look like cheap RC toy helicopters. I guess that's a disguise?

Monica wants to know why she and Agent Woo are aware that Westview exists and nobody else is. Does that mean the Sheriff was standing next to the Welcome to Westview sign and just did not see it at all? He was just hanging out in the middle of nowhere with a weirdly laconic FBI agent who kept asking about the town that very clearly wasn't just right behind them? That's a little more than amnesia.  

Also, Agent Woo's hero was Elliot Ness. Of course it was.

Oh no, the drone vanished as it crossed the town line! There's an energy field around the town that looks like what happens when you push your fingers against an old monitor and get the weird pixelly rainbow. Agent Woo's all "please no touch" and Monica's all "yes, I think I'll stick my whole hand in there." And she got sucked in. Agent Woo's gotta be like "WHY DOESN'T ANYBODY EVER LISTEN TO ME?"

24 hours later. Darcy! Some sort of transport van. A trio of other suits in the back, plus Darcy. She tries to talk to one of the dudes and he's all "we're not supposed to talk to each other!" "Boy Scout leader, got it." Relax, uptight guy. Pfft, what sort of team is that? The rest give up their specialty. Aww, bless, she went into astrophysics. "We've got the full clown car." heh.

Boy Scout leader finally caving to peer pressure: "I'm a chemical engineer." Darcy: "No one cares." lol. Missed you, girlfriend!

And in 24 hours SWORD/FBI whoever have set up a little military camp. Oh a "response base". How banally euphemistic. There's like a whole bunch of agencies there, as well as Army and Air Force.

Dr. Lewis. Oh, I'm so proud. I bet Jane was over the moon. Saved from poli-sci!

Elsewhere another drone vanishes. Darcy darcys a lot at an uptight uniform who is breathing down her neck "make your assessment" and it's delightful. Darcy notices some high levels of cosmic background radiation and also something weird layered over the top of that. Hmm, she needs a tv. "An old one, like not flat." One with vacuum tubes, perhaps?

In another part of the camp, they send in a guy in a hazmat suit, down into the sewers, looking for Monica. I guess he'll be the beekeper Wanda tosses in ep 2. Jimmy Woo is not optimistic about that plan. He tells the SWORD Director all about it.

"Someone must really miss you back at Quantico." "No, sir, softball season is over." Lol.

All their high tech scanning is turning up nothing.

Uhoh, screaming. Oh, nevermind, it's the laughtrack. While everybody else was dicking around with the LIDAR, Darcy has tracked down the last tube tv in New Jersey and has tuned into the Wanda Dimension. Episode one is playing.  

Darcy is understandably particularly baffled by Vision. "Look, I know it's been a crazy few years on this planet, but he's dead right? Not blipped. Dead." Poor Vision. Alas.

Director wants to know if the broadcast is realtime or a recording. Or what? Darcy's like "how tf should I know?"

Jimmy asks the good question "So you're saying the universe created a sitcom staring two Avengers?" "It's a working theory."

Now SWORD fans out! And collects every ye olde TV on the eastern seaboard. Who doesn't love a good sitcom, amiright? (Me. Me do not love sitcoms). The Director storms off to wherever for whatever reason. I don't know, don't care. Jimmy and Darcy are on the case.

Darcy is IDing the other "characters" in the sitcom, who appear to be real people with NJ driver's liscenses, while Jimmy is wondering why the force field is hexagonal. You've got me there. And now we're montaging.

Jimmy ponders the big board of 'characters' and Darcy drops her cup o' noodles when she spots Monica in the second episode. He and Darcy discuss and he's like "is it an alternate reality, time travel, some cockamamie social experiment?" Darcy's all "it's a sitcom." A pure mystery.

Darcy comes up with the idea to reach out to Wanda via the radio in her kitchen. "Next time she's washing dishes — which by my count happens about once an episode, barf." heh. She tech babbles some and I'm very proud.

A minion agent runs up with the latest intel from the most recent episode, it's a picture of the SWORD drone that looks more retro (frankly it looks better than the 'real world' one.) Hmmm, such a puzzler. Why did it change, they wonder.  

Darcy Lewis and Jimmy Woo are a partnership I can totally get behind. Jimmy was the voice trying to reach Wanda. Darcy's watching the show while Jimmy's trying the radio thing. It's the second episode where Wanda's talking to Emma Caulfield and things go weird. Good. I'm glad they jumped us to the outside world by ep four. While I thought the first two eps were slow, I think maybe they'll work better once we can watch the whole thing at a go.

Dude is still crawling through the sewers. I completely forgot he was down there. And the field extends below ground and he just crawled through it and became a beekeeper, and his safety rope snapped and … became a jumprope?

And then Wanda wishes him to the cornfield. (I guess? We don't see what happens to him.)

SWORD is watching episode three.

"1950s, 1960s, and now 70s. Why does it keep switching time periods. It can't be purely for my enjoyment can it?" Guys, it's so good to see Darcy.   "I can't believe Wanda and Vision are having a baby." No really, Jimmy and Darcy, BFFS 4EVAH! They're eating chips and watching the episode. Delightful. Just delightful.

"Twins. What a twist." Jimmy gives Darcy a look. "I'm invested!"

Monica mentions Ultron and Jimmy and Darcy are like "Whoa!".

They notice the screen sort of glitches and then Monica is gone and it's the end credits. Like when Bee guy vanished. Darcy and Jimmy are confused. "Someone is censoring the broadcast." Yeah, Wanda. She's gone to the scary place, friends.

Alarms go off and they run off. But, we go into Wanda World the aspect ratio changes from 4:3 to 16:9 and it's a new angle on when Wanda went all scary at Monica, demanding to know who she is. And then, of course, she gets kicked out of Wanda World.

"Wanda, I'm just your neighbor." "Then how could you know about Ultron?"

Wanda brings up the glowy hands of scary. "You are a stranger and an outsider and right now you are trespassing here. And I want you to leave." And then she zooms Monica out through the walls and fences and fields and that looked like it probably hurt.

Oh gross. Wanda turns around and sees Dead Vision. The big hole in his head and his face all, you know, dead looking. She looks away and then he's normal when she looks back. Well, now this has turned all sad, you guys. "We can go wherever we want." "No, we can't." Sad. Poor Wanda. The aspect ratio goes back to 4:3. I’m sure Editorial was like “oh god, again?” 

"Don't worry darling, I have everything under control."

I don't think so, Wanda.

Good ep! My only real takeaway is that none of this is going to end particularly happily. 

So … Darcy and Jimmy, BFFS 4EVAH!

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Smiths

The biggest reason for young hybrids to aspire to attend Cassell College was to find their soulmate, the person who was like them, both in pedigree and in riches.  Before classes start, the men have checked out the ladies and the ladies have checked out the men. Identifying the highest ranked students in class narrowed down the candidates, with the highest ranking male students coming out of the 3E being the prized stallions with the lowest rankings hoping to find something in the scraps left behind.

The Smith sisters were no different. Not only with spotless pedigrees, they had hefty bank accounts. In their early twenties, they were already accomplished business women, each one running their own real estate business, but not in housing, but in farmland. Each one of these women owned hundreds of acres where they grew maize which they traded to great success on the commodities market. To them, some rich city boy would likely not understand the importance of their business, thinking farming was a humble dirty practice. But the women, especially Celeste, understood that women like them were the ones who filled their rich bellies at night. 

Now they had come out as Rank A and were fortunately seated next to the Rank S of the class on day one. Of course, they were going to plant their flags immediately next to him. But if the poor leftover stallions of Cassell College thought that they were going to hopefully go after two other sisters as scraps, they were sadly mistaken. There were no ‘scraps’ among the Smith Sisters.

“There! That’s the last of it!” Porsche slapped her hands together as she finished moving the last of three boxes that held Tigre’s meager belongings into his new room. He’d been living in the hospital for so long, but now his one bedroom was larger than even that. It was a spacious open plan with large windows and its own bathroom with a jacuzzi tub. Their dorm was located on the top floor of the newest dormitory building on campus. 

At the first floor was the lobby and recreation area that included its own indoor pool and sauna, huge exercise room with state of the art equipment and a small theater to watch movies. There were arcades full of video game cabinets, ping pong and pool tables, and air hockey machines. There was even a salon and massage parlor. The building sat on a biking and walking trail and was quite near the library.

Porsche sat next to him on the king-size bed and handed him his tablet. “This is the college class registration portal where you choose your classes for the year. You have advanced classes because of your rank where you get the best teachers on any subject so pick whatever you like. First, you have to decide on your major.” She looked up at him with big bright brown eyes.

Tigre felt his heart suddenly skip a beat looking into those eyes, their delicately curling lashes, the rise and fall of her cheekbones. Her skin was perfect, smooth, and even. A rich shade of mahogany. “Major?”

“The direction of your study. You can’t just study everything. You have to pick a specific subject to pursue. You can change it later, but… it will just take you that much longer to graduate.”

Her fingers were topped with French manicures as she swept down to the Majors list. “Pick one.”

There were majors in Theology, Engineering, Chemistry, Alchemy… Tigre sighed. He didn’t know what many of these meant. “Is there one that has to do with fighting?”

He just remembered his vision had a lot of depictions of war. That was what dragons were known for and that’s what he wanted to be, a warrior, like a dragon.

“Fighting? So… you want to major in Martial Arts?” Porsche pulled her face into different surprised expressions. “Alright then. These will be your classes.” She tapped her finger on the screen. 

“Taijiquan, Physical Education, Kendo, Tae Kwon Do, Brazilian Jujistu, Muy Tai…” She listed them off.

He didn’t know what any of these meant! “Yeah.” He said. “Sign me up for those.”

She laughed once. “You can’t take them all at once. They limit Phys Ed to four per year, so you can have energy for your core classes and not hurt yourself. So pick four.”

He had questions about each one but he figured it wouldn’t matter. He just picked the first four off the list. 

“Okay then you have Battlefield training level 1 that all Cassell students have to attend here…” She ticked that off. “And then there’s your core classes. Right here.”

“Core Classes?” He asked, shocked. This was really adding up!

She looked at him reproachfully. “You can’t just join Cassell and be a meathead. You’ll be taking Norse Mythology 101, Dragon Lineages 101, and Alchemy 101.” She made a few more taps of her fingers and suddenly his schedule was lined up neatly in blocks of time on a calendar. “You’re kind of spacy so we’ll need to set some reminders.” 

She now took the tablet completely out of his hands.

“Spacy?”

“It means you don’t keep track of things well.” She didn’t look up from the tablet. “You have to be reminded or you won’t do what you need to do or you’ll get overwhelmed and forget.” 

“That’s true…” He admitted softly. After all, Toyama had to remind him to brush his teeth. How was he going to keep up with all of this?

She rewarded him with a smile. “Wisdom is with the modest!”

“Porsche…? What’s your major?” He asked her in a meek tone.

“I’m going into Dragon Physiology.” She said easily.

“Fizzy… ology…?”

“I study Dragon bodies.” She hands him back the tablet. “Okay, we’ll be going once we all change.”

“Where are we going?” He looks down at the tablet but she’d set the lock screen back on.

“Shopping, you need clothes and,” She stood up and paused to look him up and down “...a lot more stuff for classes and going out et cetera. Plus, we’re having a party tonight to celebrate our win.”

“We are?” Tigre said, amazed. 

“Yep. We are.” Porsche sighed, wearily. “Ahhh… it’s so tiring, to be having to help you like this. So don’t make things difficult. We’re doing you a favor to help you out so you don’t get lost. Be sure to clean up after yourself and do what we ask alright?”

“Oh, of course! I really appreciate your help!” Tigre nodded earnestly.

She gave him an approving nod. “Good. I’ll be back in a bit.”

A grown man sharing a dorm with three rich single women would raise anyone’s eyebrows, but Tigre walked out of the building with them, not having much of a choice. The girls stepped into a sun that flashed off their ebony skin and crystalline handbags, in midriff baring blouses with low shoulders and jean shorts cut above their thighs. “You have a very hefty stipend but you’ve never touched money before so I’ll hold on to it for you.” Celeste says taking his Student ID card from him. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

“Oh… okay. Thank you!” Tigre nodded.

Ruby glanced over and frowned. “It’s still his money…”

“He’s just going to waste it on something stupid because he doesn’t know what he needs.” Celeste shrugged. “You know how it is with people who get a lot of money after never having any. We, on the other hand, actually know what to do with it.”

A sleek dark blue Miata was parked in front of the building and they opened the door and got in.

“You do know about seatbelts right?” Porsche smiled as she got into the passenger side. 

Before Tigre could answer, he was startled when the whole roof of the car started folding back! Ruby giggled behind her hand. Tigre returned her smile.

“If there’s something you want just ask for it.” Ruby said.

The engine roared to life and the three of them took off, weaving through the shining spires of Chicago. The sweet tones of R&B music played on the radio and Tigre stared upwards up the skyscrapers. The three girls put on dark glasses against the sunlight, their hair blowing in the wind. 

They pulled up to a red light and idled. 

“Hey girls! Got any room for me?” A voice shouted from the corner of the street. A man in a basketball jersey whistled from a jeep.

The girls paid him no mind.

“Oh come on, don’t be that way!”

The three girls all looked at each other in unison and then the light turned green and the car sped off. 

“Does this happen a lot?” Tigre glanced behind him.

“All the time, honey. Get used to it.” Porsche lowered her glasses at him. “ You’re the luckiest guy in the world. Look at where you are. You’re in a car full of cute girls on a bright late summer day! What do you think is going to happen? Everyone wants to be you right now.”

“Don’t give him a big head.” Celeste rested her arm on the steering wheel. “I like him the way he is. Too many guys out there just think they’re entitled to our attention. We’re the ones who choose who we want. Has nothing to do with ‘luck’. We’re all the ‘luck’ he needs.” She looked into the rear view mirror. “You just sit back and relax and don’t mind the peanut gallery.”

They pulled into an upscale mall and walked in empty handed and walked out carrying three multicolored and multi sized bags on each arm. When they got back to the dorm, they started decorating with balloons and banners and bright lights. Bottles of alcohol were lined up on a minibar and glasses were arranged on the table.

These girls didn’t cook, they ordered food from the cafeteria to have it catered.

Ruby leaned over and turned up the heavy bass music and clapped her hands dancing in the middle of the living room. She grinned at Tigre  and invited him to dance with her. He had no idea what to do but she encouraged him to  ‘move to the beat’.

“By the way. Clubs. We’re joining Lionheart.” Celeste suddenly announced from the kitchen.

Tigre stopped mid-groove, hands awkwardly in the air. “We are?”

“Yeah, the people in Student Union are all uppity idiots that need to be taken down a peg. Senior Lu Mingfei is nice enough, but god, the people around him? Gag me. They’re entrenched in their stupid Euro-centric views and have no idea how the world works. But we have the other Rank S. And that’s gonna burn ‘em good.” Celeste crossed her arms. “That means we’ll be able to rise up the ranks pretty quick. It’s a sure win. There’s not enough people in Lionheart who can compete with us.”

She rolled her eyes at Tigre's stunned expression. “I’ll spell it out for you. You saw that fool, Robert. He walked right up to you as assumed you were going to want to lead Lionheart, all the while ignoring the triple threat sitting right in front of him. You’re not the one who is going to lead Lionheart. We are!”

Sure enough, a few hours later, the dorm was full of Lionheart members.

[brasskier]

First chapter of my six-part fluffy geraskefer modern AU holiday series spanning five years of holiday celebrations is up! 

Christmas 2016, or The One Where Flights are Cancelled. After a string of delayed flights and closed rail lines, Geralt, his new music teacher friend Jaskier, and his on-again/off-again girlfriend Yennefer find themselves trapped on Christmas Eve. Thank god for duty-free stores.

Read it below the cut or on my ao3

When Geralt first met Jaskier, checking an ID he was almost certain had to be fake (it wasn't; Jaskier was twenty-four), he slid off his coat to reveal an incredibly garish reindeer-emblazoned tie. At Geralt's judgemental stare, he shrugged and said, "work party."

"Pre-gaming or post-gaming?" Geralt gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Post." He settled onto the barstool, called for a Blue Moon - "and don't forget the orange slice!" - and let out an exhausted sigh before returning his gaze to Geralt. "It's just - it's my first year teaching, and I'm not really used to the political fraternizing, which is hard enough. But they nearly cut the music program before they ended up hiring me, so not everyone's exactly happy to see me there." He scrubbed a hand against his face, noting silently that he needed to shave. "Sorry, didn't mean to chew your ear off." Geralt shrugged again from the doorway. It was a slow, dull night, the usually thriving college-town bar nearly dead over winter break. 

"Not like I don't get paid for it." This elicited a chuckle out of Jaskier, who seemed to relax some. "You teach music?" 

"Yeah." He smiled fondly. "High school. Had every intention of making it big and touring the world, or maybe becoming principal trombone at the Phil. Just wasn't in the cards." 

"I'm not exactly familiar with classroom politics, but I know someone who might have some pointers." He was referring to, as he'd later reveal to Jaskier, his on-again/off-again, city councilwoman girlfriend. 

"I do like Christmas, you know," Jaskier's voice came again from the bar, between sips at his beer. "Just not the parties." 

"Humbug." Jaskier giggled again, swiping the foam mustache off his lip with the back of his hand. "Geralt, by the way."

"Jaskier." He sat in contemplative silence for a moment. "What time do you get off?" Geralt's brow furrowed, startled by the question. "It's just - I just - sorry if that was a little forward." He heaved a sigh. "My apartment's decorated. Thought you might like to see it." 

"Hmm." He glanced down at his watch, then up at the bar, empty save for Jaskier and a handful of other patrons. "Ten." Jaskier's face lit up. 

Decorated, as it turns out, was an understatement, and Geralt couldn't help but gawk as Jaskier led him through the threshold of his tiny apartment. A beautiful, grand tree stood in the corner of the living room and stretched so tall it nearly scraped the ceiling. Tinsel and garlands adorned the doorways and the arch leading to the kitchen, a buffalo plaid throw was carefully folded on the back of the couch, and a single stocking hung just below the television. Lights snaked around the perimeter of the room, warm white and snowflake-shaped. 

"Do you like it?" Jaskier asked pleadingly, shattering the protracted silence.

"It's cozy," Geralt remarked. It really was. He flopped unceremoniously onto the couch while Jaskier disappeared into his kitchen.

"Jack or moscato?" He called from the archway, holding up a bottle of whiskey in one hand and white wine in the other. "Sorry, I don't have much right now." 

"Jack is fine." He gazed around the room absentmindedly. "On the rocks." Jaskier returned before long, pressing a glass of whiskey into his hand before sipping at his own glass of wine. 

"Wanna watch something? I have Netflix." Geralt, against his better judgement, shrugged and agreed.

Jaskier was back at the bar not even a week later, excitement flashing across his face when he laid eyes on Geralt. To his credit, Geralt was keenly aware that the man had never visited the bar in his life prior to last week, let alone frequented the establishment. He just decided some things were best left unsaid.

Speaking of unsaid, Jaskier was in love - it was obvious from the way he’d follow Geralt around like a lost puppy. Started lingering around the bar every evening, choosing the seat nearest the door every time, inviting Geralt back to his apartment just as frequently. And Geralt would usually accept, watch stupid movies through all hours of the night until his new music teacher friend inevitably passed out, and then silently creep out of the apartment.

It was three days before Christmas, and the chatter of choice for the evening was holiday plans. Jaskier, as it turned out, had a flight to catch back to Jersey. 

"The worst part's taking NJ Transit down to Lettenhove," he groaned, nursing a bay breeze complete with the little paper umbrella. "It's always delayed coming out of Newark." Geralt himself had plans back in the mountains of Vermont, mainly dinner and then watching his younger brothers play football with nothing but shorts on in the freezing cold over a few cigars with his old man. 

"I have a layover in Newark," he remarked idly. Yennefer - who had hit it off interestingly with Jaskier, to say the least - was heading to New York, and he'd arranged his first flight so they'd be on it together. Which meant it was way earlier than he liked.

"What time? Maybe we'll run into each other." Jaskier looked way too excited by that possibility, leaning back on the bar with all the composure of a middle-schooler. Geralt, despite his best efforts, couldn't help but find it endearing.

"8:15," he grumbled, exasperated just thinking about having to be at the airport at 6am. Jaskier's head perked up.

"Delta?" He asked, grin growing impossibly bigger by the minute. Geralt nodded, and Jaskier was already tearing through his phone to pull up the app. "What gate?" 

"Hold on." He fished his own phone from his pocket with a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure his boss wasn't nearby, and pulled up the screenshot of the boarding pass Yen had sent him. "B4?" Jaskier nearly fell off the barstool.

"Geralt," he squeaked, struggling to right himself. "We're on the same flight." Just as soon as he'd regained his composure he lost it again, doubling over with laughter. 

"So's Yennefer," he added, and Jaskier shrugged.

"Well, then I'll be sure to pack my trombone." Geralt couldn't stop the snicker that escaped him at the sight of Jaskier's shit-eating grin.

For as much as he might wax poetic about the prospect, Jaskier absolutely despised a white Christmas. Which, just as well, is exactly what they got. He was shivering in just the time it took to flee his Uber and shuffle into the waiting warmth of the airport. Security went blessedly quickly, as it tended to at six in the morning - precisely why he settled on such an early flight. (Nevermind the fact his parents practically demanded it of him.) 

He was nursing a venti peppermint mocha latte - light and sweet, with an extra shot of espresso - when Geralt appeared at the edge of the terminal, and he patted his instrument fondly when Yennefer waltzed up behind him. 

"Geralt!" He exclaimed, rising from his seat and wrapping his free arm around him. "Yennefer!" She held a hand up as he moved towards her.

"Not so fast. I'm not sure if I like you yet." His face fell briefly, but he laughed anyway. 

"Can take the girl out of New York but not the New York–" he began to joke, but Yennefer cut him off with a roll of her eyes.

"Save it. I'm from Connecticut." That finally, properly, seemed to shut him up, and he nestled back into his seat with his coffee. She softened a little. "Where are you going?" 

"Me? Just south Jersey," he perked up. Geralt looked like he had something to add, but before he could the gate attendant started boarding calls.

The flight was thankfully brief, if a little turbulent. Geralt spent the journey playing peacekeeper in the middle seat, while Yennefer idly read some news articles she'd saved on her phone, and Jaskier slept soundly against the window, curled around his trombone. 

It was midday when they arrived in Newark. Yennefer was teasing Jaskier for managing to pass out despite the massive cup of caffeine and sugar he'd consumed, Jaskier was trying his best to put together a groggy retort, and Geralt decidedly just wanted them to shut up. At least they were all about to part ways, and he could enjoy his next flight in – shit.

"Flights to Vermont are cancelled," Jaskier's words, urgent and harried, snapped him out of his thoughts. 

"Fuck," he growled under his breath, eyeing the departure board. Sure enough, in bright red letters, his flight was delayed until further notice, with a little asterisk telling him to download the app to keep up-to-date with any developments. 

"I'd offer to let you join me," Yennefer began with a deep sigh. "But you know how my parents feel about you." Geralt ran a hand down his face. Just his luck, wasn't it. So much for cigars with his old man.

"You can come with me." Jaskier's voice was so uncertain, so small, he almost didn't hear it. "My parents haven't had a chance to hate you yet." Geralt groaned.

"Sure. Why not?" He forced a smile across his gruff features, and Jaskier met him with a toothy grin in return.

"Beats this shithole." He glanced around, trying to find his bearings in the busy airport. "Let's grab some lunch before we head out, yeah?" Geralt nodded before turning to Yennefer.

"Joining us?" She shrugged.

"As a wise man once said, 'sure. Why not?'" The wait at McDonald's wasn't terrible, so they shifted eagerly into line, and all but devoured their food the moment it was in their hands. 

"Right, so," Jaskier began between mouthfuls of Big Mac. "Northeastern Corridor down to Trenton, and my parents will pick us up there." He peered over his burger at Yennefer.

"Northeastern Corridor to NY Penn," she replied flatly, the straw of her drink stained with deep burgundy lipstick. They tossed their trash and headed off towards the train terminal, and, at the very least, Geralt would only now have to deal with one of them at a time. Except god, it seemed, was laughing at him that Christmas Eve. 

"Are you kidding me!" He'd never seen Jaskier so worked up - though, granted, he'd only known him for a month. "NJ Transit's down!?" He flung his arms about dramatically before squatting right in the middle of the station, head in his hands. Yennefer quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Is he… Okay?" Geralt shrugged, fitted a palm on Jaskier's shoulder. He gazed up at him, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. 

"Fine, fine." He pressed his hands against his knees and shifted to his feet. "Now what?"

"We're stuck here," Geralt groaned and heaved a breathy chuckle. "Merry Christmas, huh?"

"Wait…" Yennefer held a finger up, face drawn in thought. "Won't they put you up in a hotel?" Geralt hummed, and ran a finger along the massive, glowing map kiosk, searching for the nearest Delta help center.

They did, in fact, put him up in a hotel, and he did, in fact, agree to let Yennefer and Jaskier tag along. Not before stopping at one of the duty-free shops and snagging as much overpriced liquor as his wallet would allow, of course. Jaskier cast an appraising eye at his haul, shook his head, and wordlessly extracted his trombone from its case. Thank god for all those solos he'd memorized in college.

"What the hell are you–" Yennefer began, but cut herself off when the first dollar bills landed at his feet. "Oh." A few more followed, and then some more, and within a few minutes a crowd had gathered, phones out and pointed at him. He ate up the attention, playing to the crowd for another twenty or so minutes before excusing himself and collecting the cash that had collected at his feet. He bought yet more alcohol, and they departed for the hotel.

It was small and held only the bare essentials - queen bed, TV, bathroom, and the world's smallest fridge. He popped open a bottle of whiskey before he even bothered to kick his shoes off, tilting his head back and taking a deep swig before grabbing the bottle of wine still in the bag and holding it at arm's length for whoever wanted it next. 

"Thank god," Yennefer sighed, yanking it from his hand. It was a deep red that matched her lips. Jaskier dumped his bags in the corner and fished out one of his bottles of vodka. 

"Cheers," he called, raising the bottle to the air, and Geralt and Yennefer held theirs up as well, clinking the three together. "To Christmas!" They dissolved into laughter, shoes discarded randomly across the floor, limbs splayed across the bed, and alcohol sploshing precariously. 

When Geralt cracked his eyes open the next morning, early light was slipping through the blinds, a series of texts from Delta informed him his new flight was set to leave in four hours, and, well. Yennefer was naked in his arms, which he supposed wasn't entirely surprising. He shifted up against the headboard, rubbing sleep from his eyes and gently extricating himself from her unconscious grasp, jarred by the rattling of liquor bottles. His feet were about to finally hit the floor when his heart nearly stopped, and he paused urgently. Yennefer wasn't the only one he'd shared the room with…

"G'morning?" Came a breathy yawn, and soft brown hair poked up from the blankets. Fuck. He planted his feet firmly below him and scanned the room for his scattered clothing. "G'ralt?" Brown hair was followed by scrunched eyes, a half-ajar mouth, and a splotch of pink on his cheek where his hand has been pressed against it in his sleep. Geralt cursed under his breath and plucked up his underwear.

"Did we…?" He half-asked, not daring to finish the question. Jaskier - naked, for the love of god, stalked around the bed to Geralt's side and pressed a kiss on his cheek.

"Yes," he said warmly.

"All of us?" Jaskier nodded and hummed, following suit in tracking the remains of the previous day's outfit. "And… did we… did we like it?" Jaskier laughed, soft and breathy.

"We had a great time, Geralt. Relax." He slid his sweater over his head.

"Right." Finally he spotted his pants, and stepped into them unsteadily. "Suppose we should wake her?" Jaskier shrugged.

"Probably." They roused Yennefer, who also seemed to have a better recollection of the night before than Geralt, and was none too surprised. Breakfast was a brief affair in the hotel lobby, all of them downing cup after cup of shitty black coffee and basking in afterglow. Finally, at long last, they bid their goodbyes and parted ways. Geralt could finally get some peace, quiet, and alone time. On the flight to Vermont, he found himself missing the two anyway.

[skia-oura]

Closing Costs

A/N: Just a fun lil fic about the Ben Trio going house hunting :)

ao3

___________________________________________________

CORDALINE GABLES

Senior Sales Associate

hello@cordgab.org

Phone  HomeStar Inc. Messaging

 Originally from Fairfax, Old Jersey, Cordaline Gables made her home in Norfolk over a decade ago, and has worked in real estate for nineteen years. She double-majored in Business and Transcendence-Age Architecture at the prestigious University of San Antonio. Her expertise is in finding gems hidden in the crooks and corners of suburban Norfolk, but she is additionally skilled at scouting lovely apartments and homes further away from the city center. When she isn’t matching clients to their dream homes, Cordelia enjoys playing recreational badminton with her partner and taking long walks together with their beloved dog, Sniffles. Please place your trust in Cordelia!

Audio Version             Non-English Versions             Font Adjustment

 -

 New Automated Message: New Customer Application Form

NAME: Torako Lam

PARTNER: Yes [2] ; NAME: Bentley Farkas ; NAME: Tyrone Pines

CHILDREN: No

AGE: 27 ; DOB: June 17 3016

PHONE  EMAIL

PRICE RANGE: Up to $350,000  flexible inflexible

LOCATION: Within [75]km from [Niklakka Labs]

SIZE: 450—600 m2

BD: [3+]        

BTH: [1.5+]    

K: [Yes]          

LR: [No]

GRG: [No]

BY/GDN: [Yes]          

à SIZE: 125—175 m2

ADDITIONAL REQUESTS HERE:

--No dimensional subspaces

--Away from magically-charged hotspots

--Customizable Security Systems

--Garden Shed on premises, please

--Large Windows a Plus

Thank you for accommodating us! We look forward to hearing back about the properties under your purview and making our viewing appointments!

 -

 To: tora@lam.com

From: hello@cordgab.org

SUBJECT: Hello from Homestar Realtors!!

RECEIVED: July 19th, 3042

 Dear Torako Lam,

           It’s a pleasure to make your virtual acquaintance! My name is Cordelia Gables, and I’m your HomeStar Inc. appointed estate agent. I look forward to working with you and fulfilling your needs in this new chapter of your life. I have attached a list of five properties that I think may fit your needs. Please view them with your partners and let me know if there are any that don’t fit your specifications so that we may get them out of the way before viewing the homes in person. I await your reply at your earliest convenience!

 Sincerely,

Cordelia Gables

HomeStar Inc. Realtors

 House Profile 1/5:

1345 16th Avenue

Norfolk, VA 68C 22980

4 Beds  | 2 Bath  |  529 m2  | $298,000

[49 img]

 A lovely four-bedroom family home, this property includes high-quality faux-wood flooring, recently renovated wallboard, and a lovely spiral staircase straight out of a 2500’s property magazine. The kitchen boasts a brand-new stove and oven set as well as a state of the art StayFridge™ made from the finest recycled materials from North Africa. The front garden is already blooming with the loveliest daphnes, and the entire property is fenced in by rosebushes. The backyard is perfect for the smallest feet, whether those be of children or beloved pets. Don’t forget the stylish and practical EverExpanding Cabinetry installed in every part of the house—you will never run out of storage space! Each bathroom boasts a shower-tub combo, and the upper floor bathroom comes with gorgeous hand-tiled floors.

House Profile 2/5:

195 St. Phillip’s Crtwy.

Norfolk, VA 68C 22980

3 Beds  | 3 Bath  |  501 m2  |  $311,000

[12 img]

 This three-bedroom, three-story property sits in the center of the city, a mere five-minute’s walk from two elementary schools and ten minutes from the nearest junior high school. While the original structure dates back all the way to 2258, its most recent renovation was completed less than five years ago in 3039. You are certain to love the open kitchen-dining-living room setup that comprises the bottom floor, leaving the remaining three beds and two baths on the upper two floors. Each bedroom has a Magical View Window, with settings that include worldwide destinations as well as the default ‘Real’ setting for those who prefer to stay close to home. Comes with a Laundry Room in an AltBasement. Gardening space and shed included.

 House Profile 3/5:

98 Summer Estates 29¾ th St.

Norfolk, VA 68C 22981

5 Beds  | 2.5 Bath  |  598 m2  | $253,000

[28 img]

             Don’t let this house’s exterior fool you! This customizable and generous home is sure to make you feel a sense of belonging inside with its cozy ethically-sourced carpets, warm ReelWoodTM paneled walls, and burnished staircase leading to a second floor. This home includes a basement for any storage needs as well as an attic! An antique kitchen with a real non-stasis fridge are sure to fill you with longing for older, simpler times away from the busy heyday of modern life and modern worries. While the garden needs some tender love in the front (perfect for those who love a project!), the back hosts two sheds and plenty of space to grow your own produce!

 House Profile 4/5:

637 S. Felicity Dr.

Norfolk, VA 68C 22982

4 Beds  | 2 Bath  |  645 m2  | $290,000

[118 img]

             Comfortably situated in the hilly outskirts of Norfolk, this property will let you live out all your rural life fantasies without sacrificing the conveniences of urban living. Located close to a municipal transport station and within a ten minute’s bike ride of a small neighborhood shopping center, this two-story house boasts an expansive front porch and a balcony off the master bedroom. Each bedroom is larger than average, and each bathroom has a shower/tub room separate from the toilet and wash sink. The kitchen is recently renovated with state of the art appliances included in the price of purchase. The grounds around the property are large enough for both a garden and for outdoor activities such as badminton or good old fashioned tag. A basement provides adequate storage space without the hassle of dimensional subspace installment or upkeep.

 House Profile 5/5:

12841 NE 112th Pl.

Norfolk, VA 68C 22981

3 Beds  | 1.5 Bath  |  398 m2  |  $215,000

[56 img]

             Boasting a reasonably large garden, this cozy home is at the southern end of the city, within convenient distance of a major hospital, a police station, and several schools. Public transportation is not an issue! And neither will be cooking in the quaint kitchenette, set directly across a furnished dining room. One bedroom and half bathroom are on the bottom floor, and the remaining rooms are located on the second floor. Please see the attached images for more information!

 -

 July 19th

KoraTora

I’ve forwarded you the message the realtors sent me. Objections to any of these before I comb through them for my own preferences?

 DipTipTyrone

i still vote we just shack up with the sheep

 KoraTora

Oh my stars dips that’s

we agreed that’s not a possibility

we would literally go insane

 Bentley:

No, we would go mad almost immediately

Yes what Tora said

Um, looking at them, House 1 is out for sure. You sure you specified no extra-dimensional subspaces?

 KoraTora

You know I did

 DipTipTyrone

i got a perfectly good house up there. antique. ud love it. historians dream. excellent neighbors too. dont pry. no drama.

also protip house3 has some srs bad vibes. I think I actually recognize the basement wallpaper, on second thought.

 KoraTora

????

 DipTipTyrone

Yeah, that striping—oh, that was a pretty good one. Didn’t need to answer a call for the following five years.

 Bentley

In that case, I think we’re not going to do house 3, Tora.

 KoraTora

Ohshit

Whaddya mean, Ben?? Don’t want to live there?? It could???? Be fun!!!!

 Bentley

Yeah no

 KoraTora

Roger that, no worries.

So no to 1 and 3, any others problematic?

Oh wait Ben, u might want to take another look at 2 if u haven’t already.

 Bentley

?

What do you mean, it looked fine?

3 stories are good by me

Sure the counters in the kitchen are ugly in the photos but?

 DipTipTyrone

AltBasement and Magic Windows

u wont like them

 Bentley

Oh

Okay, then 1-3 are all out. You good with 4 and 5, Tora? Dip?

 KoraTora

Yeah I hated 2’s counters too

So I’m good with checking 4 and 5 out for now.

We can always see others after this too!!

 DipTipTyrone

youre the ones actually living there

 KoraTora

Don’t u start on that mister

ur living with us, even if you’re not always around

 Bentley

It’s gonna be your home too, you know

Anyways, I can make time for an appointment next week, Tora, so don’t worry about timing on my end too much

They keep trying to send me home early anyways. Keep talking about PTSD and resting and whatever.

 KoraTora

What happened??

I will drag you home

And lay on you

And make you rest

 Bentley

Nothing happened!! They’re just worried

All the time

…Dipper you did not show up at the front desk.

This is not a good place for you

Dipper

 KoraTorako

Dipper yes!!

But also no!!!!!!

 DipTipTyrone

We’ll be home soon.

Love you.

 KoraTorako

<3

But also that was dumb shit you just pulled

 -

Appointment Notice

7/21/42

SSA: Gables, ID 980039385

CLIENT: Torako Lam +2, ID 64239

PROPERTIES: House #4428, House #6609

START TIME: 10:30, from HomeStar Inc. HQ

END TIME: 12:30, SPECIAL ALLOWANCE Late Lunch Hour, Gables, ID 980039385

NOTES:

Will initially view House #4428 before venturing out to the outskirts of Norfolk to view House #6609. Hopefully one suffices; if not, consider suggesting Houses #1103, #4345, and #3327.

Potentially choosy clients.

 -

 Shari Ndadia, 11:28 AM

Cords, I heard you’re back early?

What happened?

 Cordelia Gables, 11:29 AM

My intuition was right, they are uncannily choosy clients

We didn’t even make it into 4428 before one of them stopped still and said ‘No.’

 Shari Ndadia, 11:29 AM

Holy shit

What??

What was it?? It couldn’t have been the exterior. It was so nice in the pics I’ve seen.

You always snatch up the nice ones.

 Cordelia Gables, 11:30 AM

Apparently

The InvisiFence was too magical

 Shari Ndadia, 11:30 AM

What the?

But, like, almost all the houses in Norfolk proper have InvisiFences?

 Cordelia Gables, 11:30 AM

Exactly

Which is why I thought ‘oh thank God we’ve got 6609, no InvisiFence’

And it went well at first, but then I told them about the security system

And the tall one was like ‘oh no’

And I was also like ‘oh no’

 Shari Ndadia, 11:32 AM

Wait

Wait

You’re still at square one with these clients?

 Cordelia Gables, 11:32 AM

Yes.

 Shari Ndadia, 11:32 AM

You? Queen of Sales?

She Who Strikes Yes On At Least One Initial Property?

 Cordelia Gables, 11:33 AM

Like I said: choosy.

 Shari Ndadia, 11:33 AM

What was wrong with the security system?

 Cordelia Gables, 11:33 AM

Not customizable

Though to be fair

They probably were only going to give that house a maybe

They weren’t too thrilled about the stasis fridge

 Shari Ndadia, 11:35 AM

…choosy.

I wish you luck with them. You going to go through our backlog of communal properties yet?

 Cordelia Gables, 11:36 AM

I’m not that desperate yet.

 -

To: olpink@homstar.com

From: cogable@homestar.com

SUBJECT: Issue with Client Lam [64239]

RECEIVED: July 30th, 3042

Mx. Pinkflax

           I regret to inform you that I have truly exhausted all of our listed properties for Client Lam and her partners. They have refused everything I have offered; I wonder myself if the property they want even exists within Norfolk. Between their confusing and adamant disdain for any kind of dimensional subspace (including things as mundane as storage spaces) and their insistence on customizable security systems, as well as their avoidance and hesitance around any kind of technology that involves stasis in any way, shape, or form, it has been impossible to fulfil their needs with the properties available to us.

           My suggestion moving forward is to either assign them to another Realtor within HomeStar, or to transfer their entire application to another company. If I recall correctly, you are on friendly terms with Lindquist Realtors. Perhaps something in their directory will suffice.

 Sincerely

Cordelia Gables

 To: cogable@homestar.com

From: olpink@homestar.com

SUBJECT: RE: Issue with Client Lam [64239]

RECEIVED: July 30th, 3042

Cordelia,

           Are you sure there’s nothing? You’ve gone through the communal backlog? I’ve looked over the application and I have some thoughts. What about House #7421? Or #8577? They’re a bit above price range, but I believe they could work.

 Olive Pinkflax

 To: olpink@homstar.com

From: cogable@homestar.com

SUBJECT: RE: Issue with Client Lam [64239]

RECEIVED: July 30th, 3042

Mx. Pinkflax,

           With all due respect, I have met with this trio every day for the last week. I dug into the backlog. I have recommended over 50 properties and shown them about a third of those. I was close with #4443, but the damn pet flap and subspace pet room killed it. If I don’t get a break from dealing with these very nice, very terrible clients, I will explode. The brown haired one has taken to very poorly concealed laughter whenever the hoodie-mask one refuses to set foot on the property. I cannot.

           If you have ideas of properties that would suffice, please be my guest. It would be nice to get back into the practical side if things, wouldn’t it?

 Sincerely,

Cordelia Gables

 -                              

 OLIVE PINKFLAX

Senior Realtor

hello@pinkoliv.org

Phone  HomeStar Inc. Messaging

 Born and raised in Norfolk, Olive Pinkflax hasn’t always wanted to be in the real estate business. They studied History of Architecture and Design in Georgia at the University of Savannah with the intent of pursuing a career in either graphic design or interior decorating. They then went abroad to work at non-profit agencies for a total of five years—in which the job market back home changed, largely at the fault of the Recession of 2978. Due to a lack of job openings, however, they eventually took a secretarial position at UniqNorfolq, a small real-estate business. There, they learned the tools of the trade due to insufficient staffing. By 2995, UniqNorfolq had become HomeStar under Pinkflax’s capable hand. While still small, they have grown the company into a name synonymous with quality, perseverance, and dedication to their clients. When not busy at their company, Pinkflax enjoys painting at home and doting on their pet rat, Squeakums.  

Audio Version             Non-English Versions             Font Adjustment

 -

 Client Transfer Notice, HomeStar Inc. Realtors

7/30/42

CLIENT: Torako Lam +2, ID 64239

ORG SSA: Gables, ID 980039385

NEW SSA: Pinkflax, ID 980012114

REASONING:

Client Lam and her partners have proven to be challenging cases. As this is the case, I have decided that the current best course of action would be to handle their properties personally. Attached to their case file are a list of all the properties that they have been recommended and shown, as well as notes describing their reasons for discontinuing interest. I am open to collaboration and ideas.

Pinkflax

 -

 July 31st

KoraTorako

We’ve been transferred to another Realtor at HomeStar, guys. Apparently it’s the owner of the company.

Bentley

I was afraid this would happen.

We’re being so picky.

DipTipTyrone

Better to be picky now and end up with what we want later!

A quickly made deal is always worse for the receiving party. Better to bide our time.

KoraTorako

Yeah, what Dip said

Also, of course we’re picky??? We’re traumatized.

We’re allowed to be picky, even if they don’t know why.

Bentley

I mean…I could live with a subspace we’d never use, I guess

KoraTorako

No

DipTipTyrone

No

Bentley

Why??

It’s my hangup

KoraTorako

You’re already compromising on stasisware

Bentley

We can always replace that!!

KoraTorako

So?? It still makes you super uncomfortable for completely valid reasons.

I still think we shouldn’t compromise on that.

Bentley

If we didn’t compromise on that

There would be nothing in Norfolk

I’m starting to think there is nothing with our current demands

The house on Clement was cute, wasn’t it? It was nice!

DipTipTyrone

It had the subspace pet flap

Bentley

That we’d never use!!

KoraTorako

You looked ready to start sparking

Or glittering

And also you had that ‘I’m on the edge of reexperiencing all of my recent traumas’ face on

Bentley

If I can deal with everything in daily life

I can deal with a pet flap

KoraTorako

But it’s our home

You shouldn’t have to deal with it at home

This is supposed to be a safe space.

DipTipTyrone

Home isn’t daily—ok Torako got me.

Bentley

It’d be better than the apartment we’re living in right now

Which

If you remember

Is where I got kidnapped from

DipTipTyrone

I do keep mentioning we can live with the Sheep

KoraTorako

You make a fair point, Bentley But also, this is a house we’re going to be in for a long while

Let’s make it worth it, ok?

Bentley

I

Fine, whatever

KoraTorako

I don’t want us to live here either

If we need to we can, I don’t know, AirDrop an apartment for a couple months

Keep our stuff in the apartment so that we don’t have to move it all immediately

We can make this work, Ben. We can have our steak and eat it too.

…

Bentley?

 -

Appointment Notice

8/03/42

SSA: Pinkflax, ID 980012114

CLIENT: Torako Lam +2

PROPERTIES: House #7421, House #8577, House #2468, House #1697

START TIME: 12:30, departure from HomeStar Inc. HQ

END TIME: 15:30, departure either from House #1697 or from HomeStar Inc. HQ in best case scenario

Starting with Houses #8577 and #7421 on the very outskirts of Norfolk, we will work our way into the center of town where both House #2468 and #1697 are located. None of the properties have any listed subspace technology integrated into the premises, none of them have magically-powered fences or windows, and only one comes equipped with a stasis fridge. Will make offer to replace fridge with an older but still highly functional device free of charge if the property is accepted.

 -

Client Profile Update

DATE:8/03/42

CLIENT: Torako Lam +2 [Bentley Farkas, Tyrone Pines]

CLIENT ID: 64239

CLASSIFICATION: Buyer

SPECIFICATIONS: Listed below

…

PROPERTY RECORD:

SSA: Gables, ID 980039385

 House #1212: Declined w/o viewing.

Reasoning: Extra-dimensional installations and heavy reliance on Magitech Appliances. [detail: Kitchen Appliances, Cabinetry]

 House #3958: Declined w/o viewing.

Reasoning: Extra-dimensional installations and heavy reliance on Magitech Appliances. [detail: Alternative Basement, Windows]

 House # 2249: Declined w/o viewing.

Reasoning: Basement wallpaper and house history. [detail: 2950’s owners were heavily involved with the Cult of Futures Past, Decorative Preferences]

 House #4428: Viewed, but declined.

Reasoning: Heavy reliance on Magitech Appliances [detail: InvisiFence surrounding property. Client Farkas refused to cross the boundary, saying “No” nearly immediately. Apparently sensitive to magical energy. Caution moving onwards is advised.]

 House #6609: Viewed, but declined.

Reasoning: Security System installed in the property is incapable of being customized. [detail: Client Lam has expressed that a non-customizable security system is out of the question. Furthermore, Client Farkas expressed discomfort with the Stasis Fridge. Caution moving onwards is advised.]

 House #1033: Declined w/o viewing.

Reasoning: Interior did not align with Client Decorative Preferences. [detail: shag carpeting, loud wallpaper, windows too small]

 House #3290: Declined w/o viewing.

Reasoning: Security System installed in the property is incapable of being customized.

[detail: Client Lam somehow pieced together the security code engraved around all the doors and windows, researched it, and discovered that the code is unalterable without starting over completely from scratch. IE, a warding expert carefully sanding down the inscribed code and then re-installing it to customer specifications. The House Profile has since been updated. Client Lam has since expressed that she would be open to having an initially insecure home to make secure herself. Uncertain if actually qualified to do such work.]

 House #5533: Viewed, but declined.

Reasoning: Household Electrical Wiring is too reliant on MagiTech. [detail: Client Farkas, again, expressed his distaste with the whole affair immediately upon entering the house by saying, “No,” and walking out again. How he noticed the wiring through solid wall is a mystery for the ages. Sensitivity to magic alone cannot explain it.]

 House #7567: Viewed, but declined.

Reasoning: Interior did not align with Client Decorative Preferences. [detail: Upon seeing the decoratively engraved floorboards up close, Client Pines recoiled and uttered, verbatim, “The day I spend any significant amount of time in this accursed home is the day I lay waste to the whole of humanity.” Apparently the script contains excerpts from the original Twin Souls literature. Housing detail has been accordingly updated.]

 House #2675: Declined w/o viewing.

Reasoning: Interior did not align with Client Decorative Preferences. [detail: Apparently, Clients Lam, Farkas, and Pines are not fans of rooster-themed kitchen décor.]

 House #1181: Viewed, but declined.

Reasoning: Basement too reliant on MagiTech and extra-dimensional subspace technology. [detail: The basement was a secret basement. Client Pines stared at the living room floor for an uncomfortably long time before raising his head and telling the SSA, “You might want to be careful opening that.” Property Owner has since been alerted and advised to proceed with caution.]

[UPDATE 7/29: Property has been pulled from the market while police reopen a case and conduct an investigation.]

 House #4482: Declined w/o viewing.

Reasoning: Interior did not align with Client Preferences. [detail: 3 bedrooms minimum is non-negotiable and the bathrooms were too cramped]

 House #5319: Declined w/o viewing.

Reasoning: Interior did not align with Client Decorative Preferences. [detail: They don’t like the color of the walls. Note to stay away from overly bright greens and yellows in the future.]

 …

[scrolling]

…

 House #5497: Declined w/o viewing.

Reasoning: House Address. [detail: like many other clients before them, the prospects of living at 6969 Dickinson Straightway appear to have caused the clients to decline this particular property.]

 House #9569: Viewed, but declined.

Reasoning: Building Materials not up to Client Standards. [detail: After showing the clients around the property for fifteen minutes, Client Lam hummed, squinted her eyes at the nearest window, and said, “Does that window look like somebody could break through it to you two?” The next five minutes were spent by Clients Lam and Pines discussing the fragility of triple-reinforced glass against various potential weapons, tools, etc {not limited to but including demonic powers, a bazooka, and a thumbtack} while Client Farkas sat down on the floor, put his gloved hands over his face, and muttered a nearly unintelligible “I’m sorry” to presumably the SSA. These clients are hopeless.]

 House #4443: Viewed, but declined.

Reasoning: Pet Flap and Pet Room are too reliant on extra-dimensional subspaces. [detail: Client Farkas stared at the pet flap, turned around, and put his hand on the SSA’s shoulder before saying, “No,” and walking out. Housing information has since been updated to include the unlisted Pet Room.]

 House #3944: Declined w/o viewing.

Reasoning: Unclear. [detail: Client Lam, in the emailed response, simply said, “Look, we’re all tired and this house is too square(?) for {Client Pines}, so we’re just gonna give it a couple days before trying again.”]

[SSA is going to file for a transfer of client.]

 SSA: Pinkflax, ID 980012114

 House #7421: Viewed, but declined.

Reasoning: Distance.

Detail: Too far from nearest transporter station.

SSA Comments: Clients appeared pleased with most aspects of the house. As per SSA Gable’s consultation, Client Lam appears most concerned with matters of household security. Client Farkas is harder to read, due to constantly wearing sunglasses, a hoodie, and a surgical mask despite the weather, but does not hesitate to make his opinions clear. Client Pines is…a mystery.

 House #8577: Viewed, but declined.

Reasoning: Décor, House Layout, Location.

Detail: Housing does not come with security, but the spackled walls and ceiling are apparently difficult to do the variety of warding Client Lam is used to. Layout is, according to Client Pines, confusing. House 8577 is also apparently on the edge of a minor magical hotspot, as Client Farkas has confirmed.

SSA Comments: The difficulty in getting the clients a suitable home is evident. Client Farkas appears to be the biggest wildcard, despite his consistency in what he refuses. There simply does not seem to be a reliable way to ensure that the properties will not set him against them and are simultaneously up to other standards shared by all three clients.

 House #2468: Viewed, but declined.

Reasoning: House Size, presence of Extra-Dimensional Subspace, Décor.

Detail: At 780m2, the premises were too large for upkeep. While Client Pines seemed to disagree, offering to do more cleaning in exchange for snacks and ice cream, both Client Lam and Client Farkas weren’t convinced enough to ignore the décor (the elaborate crown molding is too “ostentatious” and “creepy,”) and certainly not when the non-disclosed extra-dimensional subspace was discovered in a false wardrobe.

SSA Comments: After the clients left, I investigated. Inside the subspace, kept pristine likely only by the fact that time does not pass quickly within those places, was an additional bed and a luxurious bathroom. The style of bedsheets and drapes indicates that the subspace was installed nearly a century ago, which seems odd seeing as subspaces in those days were unstable and tended to disintegrate. On a different note, this time it was both Clients Pines and Farkas who balked at the presence of the subspace. Take note to pay more attention to reactions in the future, and to survey properties properly before visitations.

 House #1697: Viewed, but declined.

Reasoning: Security System.

Detail: Client Lam disagreed with the validity and effectiveness of the existing security system, and upon a close study of it (25 minutes), declared that it would be too difficult to properly alter and that removal would only be slightly easier.

SSA Comments: I would pay for the removal myself if it made these clients buy the house. There were no other issues with it. Upon my making the offer out loud, Client Lam laughed and said, “No, no, that’s all right! I’d rather find something a little more ready first!”

 House #2292: Declined w/o viewing.

Reasoning: House Layout.

Detail: House is built like a townhome, with a main room and bathroom on each of its 5 levels; Clients professed concern regarding the kitchen being on a separate floor from the living and dining room.

SSA Comments: Unfortunate. The building fit all of their specifications—the security system installed is simple to both customize and remove, there are miraculously no extra dimensional spaces on premises, and the only significant presence of magical technology in the entire property is the mailbox, which can be replaced at a very low cost. We investigated ourselves. Client Lam, their partnership’s point of contact, did say that it was a close call, but that ultimately they would only purchase when completely satisfied.

 House #1357: Viewed, but declined.

Reasoning: Décor.

Detail: Client Pines felt the colors were too ‘smorple’ and ‘floreen’ and several other descriptors that do not appear in any dictionary. When asked if he had noticed the issues when viewing the profile sent to them, he confessed that the colors simply ‘were different in person.’ Client Lam agreed that she didn’t appreciate the tile flooring in the kitchen. Client Farkas was quiet.  

SSA Comments: I hate to admit it, but I know a lost cause when I see one. Do they even want a house?

 -

 To: qilarlindquist@lindquistrealtors.com

From: olpink@homestar.com

Attached: ClientRecord64239.qbf

SUBJECT: A Professional Request

RECEIVED: August 7th, 3042

Dearest Qilar,

             I hope that this message finds you well. How is your family doing? I (and Squeakums, for that matter) look forward to our bi-weekly dinner and movie. I know you’ve discussed that the last full moon has left you feeling worn out, and I look forward to relaxing with you for a night.

           I write this message in the hopes that you would be amenable to taking on a client of ours. Unfortunately, we have been incapable of finding a property that would completely satisfy their desires. We have exhausted our listings. I know that you have several properties in Norfolk, and even those close to major terminals outside of Norfolk. I also know that you like a challenge.

           Attached is the client file for your information. Names and personal information have, of course, been redacted. They will be readable upon your agreement to take these clients on. The clients have of course been notified about this possible course of action. Should you decline this case, I would be more than understanding.

 Well wishes to you and yours,

Olive Pinkflax

 -

 To: tora@lam.com

From: hello@qilarlind.org

SUBJECT: Welcome to your experience at Lindquist Realtors!

RECEIVED: August 10th, 3042

 Dear Ms. Lam,

           Hello. My name is Qilar Lindquist. You and I have not had the pleasure of meeting, but I am sure that when we do, it will be wonderful. As you may know, my good friend Mx. Pinkflax conveyed to me their concerns that they didn’t have the property best suited to you in their register. However, with access to a larger company such as Lindquist Realtors, they hoped that you would have more success. If you are still obliging, I am more than happy to take you and your partners on as clients of Lindquist Realtors. It would be thrilling to find you the house you and your partners have been dreaming of. Please respond to this message as soon as you are capable, so that we may begin the process.

 Sincerely,

Qilar Lindquist

Lindquist Realtors

 -

 QILAR LINDQUIST

Senior Realtor

hello@qilarlind.org

Phone  Lindquist Realtors Homepage

Alternative Display Options

             While not born and raised in Norfolk, Qilar Lindquist has been settled in this fine city for the past 20 years. A born werewolf, Qilar has always wanted to follow his parents’ footsteps. He succeeded as well, opening up a new branch of Lindquist Realtors in Norfolk at the tender age of 28. He studied business, architecture, and chemistry at the University of Des Moines. Intelligent, quick-witted, and charming, Qilar Lindquist is dedicated to serving his clients in any way he can. Outside of work, he is involved with the local community theater and can be found volunteering at various non-profit goodwill organizations around the city. His husband often joins him in these endeavors.  

 Back to Realtor Biographies Homepage

 -

 August 13th, 3042

Chat with Saint Akuapem

6:36 PM

Thank you for the scones the other day. Hepsa enjoyed them.

So did I.

How is house-hunting going?

6:59 PM

Sorry, still working that Thompson case.

Thanks for working with me on it.

And the house hunting’s not going so great.

7:12 PM

Of course. You’re bright. I like hearing your input.

Just not situated to be a public officer of the law.

What with your friend.

7:13 PM

I know.

7:13 PM

I’m sorry to hear it is not going as well as hoped.

Would you like to talk about it?

7:14 PM

The realtor company you recommended couldn’t find anything for us

So we’ve been transferred to another realtor.

7:15 PM

Nothing? Really?

What realtor?

7:15 PM

Yeah, nothing. Lindquist Realtors.

7:16 PM

Hepsa says they are good. You are in good hands.

7:16 PM

Yeah, we had our first house hunting today.

I’m just worried it’s going to go nowhere here as well.

7:18 PM

Sorry for saying but. I find that hard to believe.

You will find a house.

What are your specifications?

7:19 PM

Ummm 3 BR 2 BTH Defs LDK

450-600 SQM

Garden with like 100-200 SQM?

No Magitech if possible, no exdim subspaces at all

Security system gotta be customizable or not there at all

We can be a little picky with décor sometimes

And house gotta be sturdy

There’s probably something else

7:26 PM

I see.

That would be difficult.

Are you willing to compromise on anything?

7:27 PM

Price. I put down 350k but if it gets me the house I want

Then I’ll pay more.

7:27 PM

Understood.

Where are you staying now?

7:27 PM

Still in the apartment

Got the lease to finish

Hate it but until we have somewhere else

7:29 PM

…how is Bentley?

7:29 PM

He’s stressed.

With the house, and being here

He’s always having nightmares

So tired all the time

Insists on going to work though and I cant talk him out of it

I want to get a house for him

But I don’t want him to have to deal with all the shit he is in the apartment

He doesn’t see himself as important enough to take care of, sometimes

So I have to take that into account

7:32 PM

What exactly is going on, Torako?

How is Bentley not taking care of himself?

7:32 PM

Like, it’s not that I don’t understand where hes coming from

I get that I might be being a bit unreasonable

But he keeps saying ��oh I can just DEAL with having an exdim subspace in the house’

‘never mind that it’s a huge trigger for all my trauma’

‘and that I sometimes cant stop looking at it just to make sure its still there and im still on the reality side of things’

‘ill just wear my magic-cancelling glasses all the time’

‘and be unable to sleep from the headache’

‘it’s not that big of a deal, torako, let’s have the magitech here that hurts to look at too much’

‘who cares, it’s just a fridge torako!! Not like it was used to TRANSPORT ME to a FOREIGN COUNTRY so that a MADMAN could CONDUCT EXPERIMENTS ON ME to the point that I almost took FATALLY DRASTIC ACTION’

He keeps saying he’ll just put up with his trauma like it’s a minor inconvenience!!

And he shouldn’t have to do that.

Not in a house that’s our own.

7:36 PM

Bentley was what now.

7:36 PM

Oh right

You didn’t know that part

7:36 PM

You went to get him.

7:36 PM

of course

I love him

7:36 PM

Therapy?

7:36 PM

Bentley? Yeah.

Hell of an NDA.

7:37 PM

No, you.

7:37 PM

She’s the only other person who knows everything.

Like, everything everything.

wait what?

7:37 PM

Torako.

I think you’re not doing as well as you think you are.

7:37 PM

Bentley was tortured

I wasnt

7:38 PM

I’ll believe you on that.

But you still devoted yourself to finding him.

And he was tortured, and you have to deal with the consequences of that too.

7:38 PM

???

7:39 PM

You sound stressed, Torako.

And scared.

7:39 PM

Maybe a little

But Bentleys more important rn

7:40 PM

I would say you’re both equally important.

Sorry, Torako, Hepsa is calling me; we’re going to a late night movie.

I’ll keep my eye out for you.

7:40 PM

OK

Thank you

I really appreciate it

 -

 Client Profile Update

DATE:8/15/42

CLIENT: Torako Lam +2 [Bentley Farkas, Tyrone Pines]

CLIENT ID: IMP64239

CLASSIFICATION: Buyer

CAUTION: PICKY, SPECIFIC, UNCOMPROMISING

SPECIFICATIONS: Listed below

…

LINDQUIST REALTORS PROPERTY RECORD:

SSA: Lindquist, ID 109A854D

…

…

NEW UPDATES 8/15/42

 HOUSE ID: 798A 209X

ADDRESS: 389 West Hampton Drive

SELLER: Mx. Adelaide Hanson

STATUS: DECLINED

NOTES: Unfortunately, despite attempts to the contrary, the clients were not impressed with the security system. We discussed it at length at Lindquist Realtors and felt it sufficient, but Client Lam insisted quite sternly that she needed to have full control over the system. RapierSolutions is a top of the line system. I tried to convey that to Client Lam, but she refused to hear sense. “I need to be able to alter it,” she said. “If I can’t alter it, it’s a no-go—especially with those weak windows and the shallow hinges on the entryways.” Mx. Pinkflax was not kidding around when they said Client Lam was a bit controlling over safety specifications. Possible paranoia?

 HOUSE ID: 665D 187L

ADDRESS: 9821 NW 4736 PL

SELLER: Mr. and Ms. Nakatani

STATUS: DECLINED, INACTIVE

NOTES: We combed the premises for subspaces personally. Nevertheless, Client Farkas quietly pointed out that there was a secret bunker hidden under the premises, and that it spanned the entire property. While he hastened to assure us that it wouldn’t be that much of an issue, Client Lam overheard and insisted that they wouldn’t buy any property with extradimensional subspaces. When Client Farkas attempted to tell his partner that they weren’t going to use that garden gate anyways, Client Lam shut him down. Client Pines also wandered over from where he was inspecting the brick wall of the garden, said “This place might be cursed,” and waved his partners cheerily off of the premises.

Upon notifying the authorities as required by law that there may or may not be a curse on the premises, the police shut down the premises. Any attempt to contact Mr. and Mrs. Nakatani beyond alerting them to the existence of the subspace has been unsuccessful.

UPDATE: the extradimensional basement is now the scene of a crime. 665D 187L is now under government jurisdiction.

 HOUSE ID: 278K 396V

ADDRESS: 421 Wildstar Avenue

SELLER: Mr. Fegelhorn and Mr. Gil

STATUS: DECLINED

NOTES: Client Lam, predictably, criticized the ‘astounding lack of security’ in the warding system, the ‘structural instability’ of a perfectly good cellar window, and the presence of a stasis fridge on the premises. Client Farkas was silent. Client Pines said that he ‘liked the staircase’ but that the upstairs bathroom tub was ‘too small for his preferences.’ Naturally, the clients declined the home.

 HOUSE ID: 525P 792S

ADDRESS: 98 Maplefarm S. Street

SELLER: Mrs. Polinski

STATUS: DECLINED, INACTIVE

NOTES: Surprisingly, it was not Client Lam or Client Farkas who had reason to decline the property. This is probably because Client Pines, five steps past the garden gate, hissed and bodily hauled his partners away from the grounds. When asked what the matter was, he snarled out in the most terrifying voice something about unquestionable evil and the screams of the undead. As required by Law, we have notified the authorities.

UPDATE: Property is now under police jurisdiction. Norfolk Government Demonologists and Exorcists evacuated the entire block for a full 48 hours. It seems Mrs. Polinski was being possessed by a terribly old demon, Hyutgen the Voracious and had been for an undetermined amount of time.

What is up with these Clients and finding horrific crime scenes?

-

August 15th, 3042

Chat with Handsome <3 <3 <3

5:28 PM

Darling, what’s up?

You seem to be staying late at the agency today

As of late, really.

Is it The Clients?

5:57 PM

I’m so sorry.

Yes, it is.

This is much more difficult than anticipated.

Olive called it a challenge and I was foolish enough to think I had it in the bag.

The Clients are insatiable.

There’s always something wrong with the properties. Always.

And they keep uncovering properties as crime scenes??

6:03 PM

I’m so sorry darling.

6:03 PM

I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Bayani.

I’m so tired.

I’ve shown them over 30 properties, personally.

6:04 PM

Do you want to talk it out?

I can get your favorite dinner together

We can curl up on the couch

Put on some Strandson

6:05 PM

You know what?

Yeah.

Yeah, that sounds nice.

I’ll be home in 10 minutes.

6:06 PM

See you soon <3

6:06 PM

<3 <3

 -

 To: tora@lam.com

From: hello@qilarlind.org

SUBKECT: Realtor Change Notification

RECEIVED: August 16th, 3042

 Dear Ms. Lam,

           My apologies in advance for the contents of this email, though I hope it finds you well. Unfortunately, due to my position as head of company, I am unable to continue being your Realtor. I have transferred you to the care of one of my very capable senior agents. Mx. Ya-en. I hope that you understand, and that Mx. Ya-en can see to your needs better than I have.

 Sincerely,

Qilar Lindquist

Lindquist Realtors

 -

 HARLEY YA-EN

Senior Realtor

hello@harleyyaen.org

Phone  Lindquist Realtors Homepage

Alternative Display Options

             Harley Ya-en, despite xir elderly age of 84, is one of Lindquist Realtor’s most capable senior Realtors. A psychic who can read auras, Harley Ya-en is capable of anticipating the client’s needs and emotions. This allows Mx. Ya-en practical insight into which properties will suit a buying client’s needs. Xe also has a wealth of knowledge regarding the Norfolk area due to living here for the past 50 years, and is a font of trivia sure to satisfy the most curious of souls. Xe lives with xir husband and wife, and enjoys taking road trips—

 -

 To: qilarlindquist@lindquistrealtors.com

From: harleyyaen@lindquistrealtors.com

SUBJECT: LOL NO

RECEIVED: August 17th, 3042

 Qilar,

           Holy fucking shit you do not pay me enough for this. You have to transfer them. I cannot work with these clients.

Sincerely,

Harley

 -

 To: harleyyaen@lindquistrealtors.com

From: qilarlindquist@lindquistrealtors.com

SUBJECT: RE: LOL NO

RECEIVED: August 17th, 3042

 Harley,

           What happened?? What did they do??

 Qilar

 -

 To: qilarlindquist@lindquistrealtors.com

From: harleyyaen@lindquistrealtors.com

SUBJECT: RE: LOL NO

RECEIVED: August 17th, 3042

 Qilar,

           They didn’t do anything in particular. They’re just impossible clients—I’m thinking it’s not even their fault, entirely—and I have read their file. Even with that, I was hesitantly down for the challenge until I saw their auras and interacted with them today. I am Not Doing It. I am too old for this. Give me another assignment.

 Sincerely,

Harley

 -

 To: harleyyaen@lindquistrealtors.com

From: qilarlindquist@lindquistrealtors.com

SUBJECT: RE: LOL NO

RECEIVED: August 17th, 3042

 Harley,

           I’m sorry, I need more explanation than this to take you off immediately. I handled a week. So can you. You can’t use your age as an excuse all the time.

 Qilar

 -

 To: qilarlindquist@lindquistrealtors.com

From: harleyyaen@lindquistrealtors.com

SUBJECT: RE: LOL NO

RECEIVED: August 17th, 3042

 Qilar,

           Fine: here it is.

           I only got the two Clients. Client Pines was, as they said, out on important business, who knows when he’ll be back. Something was fishy about that but okay, I won’t pry, and these two are setting me off on edge a little as is so maybe it’s just that.

           Then the more I interact with them, the more I realize that Client Farkas’s aura is just fucking weird. Bananapants, CocoNutPuffs, whatever you want to call it. It’s all muddled and patchy and a headache and a half to read. It’s like somebody took his aura, threw out most of it, and stuffed a bunch of excess aura in to fill the gaps. There’s no way he was born like that, and there’s no way whatever happened was pretty (or probably even painless). He’s definitely trying, though, so I figured aight, we’ll see if we can’t compromise with this whippersnapper.

           The problem is Client Lam.

           Client Lam doesn’t want to be pleased. Client Lam, for whatever reason, is terrified. And overprotective of Client Farkas. And she’s absolutely looking for reasons to be disappointed, or she’s at least seeing shadows where there are none. We could present Client Lam with a fortress and she wouldn’t be satisfied. My bet is that whatever happened to Farkas’s aura was traumatizing, and Lam was impacted by that trauma. I showed her two viable properties at excellent prices with wonderful locations and an astounding lack of extradimensional pockets or Magitech gadgets, and she found fault with them. Neither were crime scenes, thankfully.

           You may want to assign them with somebody who has experience—but you could also use this opportunity to show some junior realtors how tough clients can be. Also, the junior realtors might not be so entrenched in the practice, and they could have some excellent ideas.

           Or you could just…send these clients to somebody else. Your choice. I’m just not dealing with it. They’ll drive me into an early grave if I take this too seriously, and you know how I get.

 Sincerely,

Harley

 -

 To: tora@lam.com

From: hello@amarshir.org

SUBJECT: Realtor Change Notification

RECEIVED: August 18th, 3042

 Dear Ms. Lam,

           Hello! What a pleasure it is to meet you. I’m writing to inform you that unfortunately, Mx. Ya-en is unable to continue handling your case. The upside is that I am able to do so in xir stead! My name is Amar Shirvani, and I’m going to be handling your case from now on. I’m excited to work with you and your partners, and hope that you are as excited to work with me! I promise I will do my best to help you achieve your housing dreams!

 Yours,

Amar Shirvani

Lindquist Realtors

 -

 AMAR SHIRVANI

Junior Realtor

hello@amarshir.org

Phone  Lindquist Realtors Homepage

Alternative Display Options

             Native to Norfolk, Amar Shirvani is the youngest member of Lindquist Realtors at 22 years old. He recently graduated from the Offet University of Business with honors. While not the most experienced, Amar brings exuberance and creative thinking to the team at Lindquist Realtors. He has been involved with volunteer work from early childhood due to his parents—

 -

 TweetyFlaps Trending

#clientwoes

 world aint gonna end til I end it myself

@Silverforks

So I’ve got a kind of sort of customer service job, right. And so far it’s been fine! I’ve had ok clients. And then Bossman slides me a paunchy one cross the table and I start to understand #clientwoes for the first awful real time. 1/ 10:48 AM        23 AUG 3042

______________________________________________________________________

 world aint gonna end til I end it myself                            

Replying to @Silverforks

2/ i know from the start its gonna be a Ride. Like, chalk and candles intensity. Client file is thicc w/rejected properties (im in housing). But I’m game!! Im always game, you know me haha. Unfortunately… 10:50 AM        23 AUG 3042

 world aint gonna end til I end it myself                            

Replying to @Silverforks

3/ these are clients from hell. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were actually demons in disguise. Here to torture me. For something. I aint actually ever summoned nothing. But like, it’s unreal how BAD this exp has been. 10:51 AM        23 AUG 3042

 world aint gonna end til I end it myself                            

Replying to @Silverforks

4/ for 1, they all look normal expt one of them. Head to toe, covered. Would think was vampire, but that’s usu specified in reports. Nobody’s seen his skin other than flashes. Aight, tho, I aint prejudiced, i’ll roll with it. 10:53 AM        23 AUG 3042

 world aint gonna end til I end it myself                            

Replying to @Silverforks

5/ so they super picky clients, right. I thought nah, they cant be that bad!! Just haven’t hooked the right worm yet. So I pick out a coupla worms (houses) that I think they might enjoy and hoo boy was that a chore, but im satisfied! Spoiler: they aint. 10:56 AM        23 AUG 3042

 world aint gonna end til I end it myself                            

Replying to @Silverforks

6/ they aint never gon be satisfied. #1, not-vampire client mentions v v quietly to me that sorry, theres a thing he cant deal with on premises, but mb they can still keep it in mind?? But (super good hearing???) another client hears and squawks about it. he aint having it, apparently.   10:58 AM        23 AUG 3042

 world aint gonna end til I end it myself                            

Replying to @Silverforks

7/ and then third client (Harpy) hears bc squawk, and she SUPER aint having it, so we just go to the next house. And the next one. And—u get it already.   10:59 AM        23 AUG 3042

 world aint gonna end til I end it myself                            

Replying to @Silverforks

8/ and like, im patient. Im pretty lowkey. But today’s house was—perfect?? There was nothing wrong with it. Client Hoodie didn’t say nothing bad. Liked the rooms. Client EllieEars don’t complain bout no weird curses or dead bodies or bad décor. But Client Harpy?? Client Harpy is impossible. 11:02 AM        23 AUG 3042

 world aint gonna end til I end it myself                            

Replying to @Silverforks

9/ u kno what she said?? She said, and I repeat: the front door is too thin.

The front door. Which is a solid 5 cm of wood (real!! Wood!!). is too thin. It’s “Insecure”. 11:03 AM        23 AUG 3042

 world aint gonna end til I end it myself                            

Replying to @Silverforks

10/11 I didn’t say it bc im a good worker, but I really wanted to go off on her. She’s impossible. This is the worst assignment ever. Ive worked so hard my soul’s gonna feel it 5 carnations down.   11:05 AM        23 AUG 3042

 world aint gonna end til I end it myself                            

Replying to @Silverforks

11/11 srsly. 5 cm of solid wood!! Insecure. Unbelievable. #clientwoes 11:05 AM        23 AUG 3042

 -

 August 23rd  

Bentley

Sally Mihn at work sent me this.

You might want to take a look.

https://tweetyflap.com/silverforks/status/1199679934986810752

 DipTipTyrone

oh boy

that’s about us alright

 Bentley

Yeah

It is

Torako

We need to have a fucking talk

 KoraTorako

We do need to have a talk with the realtors

That’s unacceptable

 Bentley

What we need to do with the realtors is apologize

What we three need to do is discuss what the fuck we’re doing

 KoraTorako

No, that was completely unprofessional

And what do you mean, what are we doing?? We’re looking for a house.

 DipTipTyrone

I’ll take care of the tweets for a pack of gummies

 Bentley

No, Dipper

Torako

We have been house-hunting for a month

We have looked at over 200 houses by this point

 KoraTorako

Thanks dip but probs not

 Bentley

And you have said no

To all

Of them

We need to fucking compromise

 KoraTorako

Compromise on what?? Our safety?? Our comfort?

 Bentley

No, on your unachievable standards

 DipTipTyrone

Oh

Oh no

 KoraTorako

Who says they unachievable??

 Bentley

The 200+ houses we’ve looked at to dismiss out of hand!

 DipTipTyrone

This is a fight, isn’t it

 KoraTorako

I’m just making sure that whatever we get will be safe!

 Bentley

Most of them HAVE been safe!

You’re just being STUPIDLY overprotective!

 DipTipTyrone

oh no im the

im the middle party aren’t i

 KoraTorako

I am not!

 Bentley

Yes you are! You need to trust me to make choices for myself!!

 KoraTorako

Well, I would if you weren’t so insistent on ignoring your own wellbeing!

 DipTipTyrone

How does one mediate

 Bentley

I’m just trying to find a fucking house! I’m trying to meet them in the middle!

 KoraTorako

Not on that you shouldn’t!

 Bentley

It’s MY choice!

 KoraTorako

And it’s MINE TOO!

You shouldn’t be in an environment that causes you to have so many fucking nightmares!

Like you are NOW

 DipTipTyrone

Uuuhhh shit shit shit um

You’re both right and both wrong?

 Bentley

Love you, but Shut up dip

And maybe I’m having nightmares because we’re still in this fucking apartment

 KoraTorako

I told you we could stay at another Rental until we found a house!

And shut up dip, im the right one here

 Bentley

You’re the right one???

We can’t solve everything with money, Torako!! And at the pace we’re going, we’d be in that rental place until our current lease is up Next January

 DipTipTyrone

…maybe this is an in-person convo?

 KoraTorako

I just want our house to be safe!! What if something happens again?

 Bentley

It won’t fucking happen again! Fantino was a one-off. I haven’t pissed off any other researchers overly invested in their research lately!

 DipTipTyrone

What about that one guy at work?

Wait no ignore that

 KoraTorako

But it MIGHT! We! Don’t! Know for sure!!

 Bentley

We don’t know that it WILL happen, Torako!

You need to just let this stupid fucking paranoia go

 DipTipTyrone

Uh

 KoraTorako

Stupid?? Fucking paranoia??

 DipTipTyrone

Bentley that was not uh

Not good

 KoraTorako

It’s not paranoia if it could happen again. It happened once.

I can’t forget that, Bentley. I can’t forget going to open that door and finding it unlocked. I can’t forget opening the apartment to you being gone, and to the wards being destroyed, and to everything I thought was keeping us safe not actually keeping us safe.

I’m not doing that, Ben.

The house we’re getting?? Is going to be fucking safe, and I am going to make it that way.

 DipTipTyrone

Torako…

 Bentley

Look, I get that

But there were ways of making the houses we looked at safe that you weren’t willing to entertain.

That one, with the green roof and the cute staircase?? That was totally viable. We absolutely could have torn the security system out with no trouble.

We literally have Dipper to do that for us.

But you said no! Like you said no to the one with the nice garden, and the one with the really big open windows.

I just want a house, Torako.

It’s not even like we’re necessarily going to live here forever? So if it’s not perfect, I’m ok. I just want somewhere to live that’s not the apartment.

 KoraTorako

And I just want us to be safe, Bentley.

I cant do this right now.

I have to go.

 DipTipTyrone

Is it over?

…fuck it isn’t, is it.

Fuck.

 -

To: hello@qilarlind.org

From: tora@lam.com

SUBJECT: Important

RECEIVED: August 23rd 3042

 Dear Mr. Lindquist,

           Hello. I’m writing to inform you that one of your employees—I’m assuming our current agent, Mr. Amar Shirvani—vented about my partners and I on a public forum. Here is the link: https://tweetyflap.com/silverforks/status/1199679934986810752

           While I understand that we have not been very accommodating clients—myself particularly—I don’t believe that this appropriate behavior. Venting is important, but the place where Mr. Shirvani chose to express his frustrations wasn’t the right one. Please convey this to him for me.

           I don’t want him to lose his job. He’s young and hasn’t learned this particular lesson yet. But I also find myself hesitant to keep working with Mr. Shirvani. Would you be willing to either transfer us to another realtor, or recommend us to another company like Mx. Pinkflax did? I would really appreciate it.

 Sincerely,

Torako Lam

Private Investigator

.

-

 To: tora@lam.com

From: hello@qilarlind.org

SUBJECT: RE: Important

RECEIVED: August 24th 3042

 Dear Ms. Lam,

           I’m very sorry to hear about what Mr. Shirvani did. We’ve discussed the incident and he understands the impropriety of his actions. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.

           While I believe that we have exhausted our properties here at Lindquist Realtors, I am happy to recommend you to a few other businesses in the Norfolk Area. They’re smaller, but perhaps they have the specific kind of property that you are looking for. I will do my best to put in a good word for you. Should that fail, I will personally endeavor to find you the house you need.

 Sincerely,

Qilar Lindquist

Lindquist Realtors

 -

 August 24th

Chat with Reynash Pines

11:01 AM

Hey Reynash

Can I ask you a question?

11:02 AM

What a surprise to hear from you via text!

Usually you just pop in and scare my soul out of my chest.

But for your question-- please ask

There’s nothing to do at work at the moment.

11:02 AM

Wouldn’t you usually leave?

Or have things changed again without me realizing it?

11:03 AM

Oh no, normally I would

But I have an appointment at 11:45 that I have to stick around for.

What’s your question?

11:04 AM

Torako and Bentley are fighting over housing.

We’ve told you about the house-hunting, right?

11:04 AM

Oh dear. Yes, I know.

Why are they fighting?

11:05 AM

Trauma. I think. They didn’t say themselves.

But I think it’s trauma.

Anyways, that’s not the important part.

What’s important is how do I help them?

11:06 AM

From the incident back around May?

Oh dear.

Are you sure that’s not the important part?

11:06 AM

Mostly.

Anyway. I just need to know how to mediate.

I haven’t mediated in…

In forever?

I can’t remember.

11:07 AM

…why are you even asking me?

11:07 AM

Because not many people know me as me

And you’re one of the only people who has known me as me for a significant amount of time and are also NOT ben or tora

And also you’re pretty calm mostly except when I show up and scare you

11:09 AM

Well

In my defense, I think most people would be scared if you showed up out of thin air and yelled strange things like WHAT YOU CRAVIN or whatever.

11:10 AM

Are you…sassy?

11:10 AM

Possibly

Back to your predicament: mediating

Have Bentley and Torako been able to talk to each other in person about this?

11:11 AM

No :(

They’ve been very quiet around each other at home.

And Bentley’s going on a trip soon.

So they won’t have a chance for a while.

Do they have to??

11:12 AM

It’s just easier to mediate when you’re all there.

Basically

They have to have the conversation, right?

Your job as mediator is to make sure they stay on task

And that no thoughtlessly cruel words are said.

11:12 AM

So they can say mean things

But they can’t mean the mean things?

11:13 AM

Okay, let me rephrase:

They’re mad at each other. They might say mean things that just hurt each other. Words that are meant to hurt each other.

They should not do that.

That does not help the conversation.

11:13 AM

Oh

Hm

So if one says the other is being stupidly paranoid

That’s where I say no, stop?

11:13 AM

Right.

11:14 AM

And if the other says one is being needlessly reckless with his own mental health

That’s where I say no, stop?

11:14 AM

Er

Maybe not, depending

Is he being needlessly reckless with his own mental health?

11:14 AM

I don’t know? Maybe? How do I tell?

11:15 AM

I can’t believe I’m saying this but

We might need to have this conversation face to face.

Please come he0-awekjhwel

11:39 AM

And remember what we discussed

And the pamphlets I sent you

And also please remind Torako and Bentley that Lata would like to see them sometime next month if they’re able to.

11:39 AM

Thanks Ray!

I really appreciate everything

Sorry for making you scream!

 -

 To: qilarlindquist@lindquistrealtors.com

From: simonkhoo@khoohootrealtors.com

SUBJECT: RE: Professional Request

RECEIVED: August 25th, 3042

 Dear Qilar Lindquist

           Thank you very much for the request. I’m honored that you would consider sending us clients that you yourself could not satisfy. It honestly instills an incredible, renewed sense of capability in us here at Khoohoo Realtors.

           Upon viewing the file you sent, however, one of my junior realtors raised concerns that these particular clients may be too difficult for a firm of our moderate size to adequately deal with. Between yourselves and HomeStar Realtors, these three clients weren’t satisfied. That, to us, is a bit of a red flag. We reviewed their specifications in comparison to our own catalogue, but don’t believe we have anything that they would be interested in actually buying. Therefore, in the interest of saving everybody a great deal of time and energy, I must admit that we cannot at this time take on your clients.

 Have an excellent day,

Simon Khoo

Head of Khoohoo Realtors

 -

 To: qilarlindquist@lindquistrealtors.com

From: lancefraiser@dreamhomerealtors.com

SUBJECT: RE: Professional Request

RECEIVED: August 25th, 3042

 Dear Qilar Lindquist

             Thank you very much for this request.

           Unfortunately, we don’t have the time or patience for clients that would require a great deal of energy. From the looks of the file you attached, that seems to be the case with these clients. Therefore, in short, no.

 Yours,

Lance Fraiser

Senior Realtor

DreamHome Realtors

 -

 To: qilarlindquist@lindquistrealtors.com

From: naitafellen@redfinrealtors.com

Attachment: 2042-PoliceRecoverKidnappedManwithHelpFromCivillian.qbf

SUBJECT: RE: Professional Request

RECEIVED: August 27th, 3042

 Qilar,

           Long time no talk, friend!! Wow it’s been a while, I guess we’ve both been busy. I know this is a professional request and all, but we should get drinks or something!! I hear there’s a great alfree bar that’s just opened up downtown. Apparently it has killer drinks, and it of course it doesn’t have alcoholic stuff so you’re good to drink whatever.

           I took a look at the client rec you sent me, and hoo boy they’ve sure got a record! RedFin usually takes whatever, and you know that, but I don’t actually think we can get them anything?? I’d feel bad chucking properties at them that I know they won’t like. I think they’ve already checked out like three quarters of Norfolk lol. Talk about trying to summon with a broom and a lighter!

           Also, they really remind me of this one tweety I read recently? Oof, if that was one of your kiddos who posted it, you should really tell them that’s a bad call—both for them and the clients. These clients aren’t going to get anything in Norfolk, not with that popular tweety paired with that record. And if it gets out that your kiddo was the one that posted that??? Aint nobody gonna hire them, not with all this client confidentiality and all at stake. Gotta be careful what you post online, even when it is venting.

           Yo, but hey, hope you find somebody for these clients! They seem like they got some scary baggage. The one who nopes around magitec and exdims reminds me of something I read in the news a while ago—it was an article that was hushed down p quickly out of respect for the victim, but I still got the doc. I’ve attached it if you want to read! It might even help you figure stuff out with your clients, even if they aren’t the same.

 Let’s meet up for drinks sometime!

Naita Fellen

Owner of RedFin Realtors, Norfolk

Senior Realtor

 -

 August 27th

KoraTorako

I just received an email from Qilar that he’s going to continue to handle our case, but that it may take a while to comb through what properties they have left.

I said it was fine because Bentley’s off on a trip.

 DipTipTyrone

Great!!

This seems like a good time to have a heart to heart, don’t you think?

 KoraTorako

I, uh, what?

 DipTipTyrone

Bentley’s doing nothing right now! Bentley, talk

Bentley, talk or I’ll make you talk.

Bentley I know you’re at your hotel.

 Bentley

Oh my stars dip

What??

 DipTipTyrone

You guys argued a lot last time we really had a discussion

And you’re angry

And you need to talk about why you’re angry

So that you have a healthy conclusion to your argument

And so that you understand each other’s viewpoints better.

It’s important!

 KoraTorako

But why…now?

 DipTipTyrone

Because you sent that message

And I’m sure Bentley’s feeling vicious about it

 Bentley

No I’m not!

 DipTipTyrone

Yes you are

I can see your aura, and while it’s difficult to read, you’re very dlskajlkwjelkjewnsd;nlab

Aslkdjgwaelkl;kwa;ljk

Dlkjaw-000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

 KoraTorako

What the fuck

 DipTipTyrone

You can’t take my phone away from me!! Ha! I win!

 Bentley

You can’t just half slide through the wall so that I can’t tell you’ve blipped in!

What the hell??

 KoraTorako

Okay okay so youre serious about this

Fine

What do you want us to talk about

 DipTipTyrone

Your feelings, I guess?

Like, Bentley. Tell us how you feel about Torako’s latest message.

 Bentley

You’re not my therapist

 DipTipTyrone

No, but we’re family

Which means communication

So tell us.

 Bentley

Uuuuuggghhh

Fine

Torako, that email proves why it was stupid to just dismiss all the properties as soon as we saw them and I feel vindicated but also tired

 DipTipTyrone

Hey, um, you gotta cut all the negativity against the other person out of your message

Try again!

 Bentley

…

The email proves that it was wrong to dismiss the properties without really thinking further about them. I feel vindicated. I feel tired.

Happy?

 DipTipTyrone

Better!

Torako, your turn!

 KoraTorako

Oh my stars are we really doing this

This is so stupid

 DipTipTyrone

Do it

 Bentley

Yeah tora, do it

If I have to, so do you

 KoraTorako

Fine

I’m just tired, ok?? This has taken so much longer than I thought it would. And I know I’m at fault for some of it!!

But I’m sick of Bentley falling to the pressure of ‘picking’ because it’s what’s expected of us. I don’t want him to feel scared or uncertain or uncomfortable in whatever house we pick, even if we’re only there for a couple years until we can pay off the place.

 DipTipTyrone

Thank you Torako! I don’t see any unnecessarily hostile language in there, so that’s A-OK, you pass. Bentley?

 Bentley

I just feel bad because everybody’s trying so hard

And we’re being so hard on them

And sometimes I just don’t understand why you reject the houses? So what that the security system isn’t perfect. I don’t mind going to the effort of pulling it out and starting it again. Heck, I would pay Dip to do it easy!

 KoraTorako

But that’s not your problem

That’s a me problem

I just…I want it to be good from the beginning. I want it to work from the start so that we don’t have to worry about it.

 Bentley

But that’s not going to happen

Sometimes you have to work to make something work for you

And if we gotta do that

I’m fine with it

 KoraTorako

I…I guess

I’m still not completely comfortable with that

 Bentley

We can work on it together

And hey

If I promise to not say yes to houses that make me uncomfortable will you promise to give things like security systems and house integrity a chance?

Like, not dismiss them immediately?

 KoraTorako

…yeah. I can do that, I think.

 DipTipTyrone

Good!! I’m glad we had this discussion

You know, I’m a pretty great mediator!

 Bentley

Dipper I watched you leaf through those pamphlets during the discussion

But yeah

Thank you, dipper

 KoraTorako

Thank you, dipper <3

 Bentley

He’s blushing!!

Compliment him more

 DipTipTyrone

No!

Stop ganging up on me!

 KoraTorako

You’re so cute, Dips!!

 Bentley

The cutest

Aw, he’s glowing

 DipTipTyrone

I should have let you keep fighting

 -

 August 29th, 3042

Chat with Saint Akuapem

4:12 PM

Torako, how are you?

Hepsa says hello

Are you still looking for houses?

4:15 PM

Yeah, we are

Say hello back for me

I’m ok, but a bit tired.

4:15 PM

Excellent

A parent of one of Hepsa’s students mentioned that their mother passed away recently

And that they were willing to sell the property

It seems the mother was afflicted with a curse that prevented her from using most Magitech

And she didn’t trust extra-dimensional spaces

It was a family home, so there are 4 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a nice garden.

Would you be interested in looking at it?

4:17 PM

Are you fucking serious.

Yes please, a thousand times yes

When can we look?

4:18 PM

Let me ask Hepsa to ask for me.

4:49 PM

Would you be available tomorrow afternoon?

3:30 PM.

 4:51 PM

Oh gosh oh yes

What’s the address?

4:51 PM

Just meet me at our apartment.

We will walk you over.

4:51 PM

Officer you really are a saint

I could kiss you

4:52 PM

Bring some more of those brownies. It’ll be even then.

 -

 “So? What do you think?”

           Torako trailed her fingers across the mantle for the fireplace. It was a real one; apparently, pure electric fireplaces were hell to install and more hell to maintain. There were no runes carved into the rough brick, no faint thrum of magic that Torako could now pick up if she closed her eyes and concentrated really, really hard.

           The whole house had very little by the way of magic.

           “It’s…” Torako looked down at the fireplace proper. It had been cleaned, recently, shiny in the way that old things gleam when properly taken care of. The house had been loved, she was sure of it. “It’s not bad.”

           A touch to her elbow. She looked over at Bentley, whose eyebrows were quirked. “Torako. Please. Be honest.”

           She hummed, turned to lean against the mantle and look out the big windows that provided a view of the garden space. Unmaintained, a little wild. They could put a vegetable patch there, she thought. Maybe a couple fruit trees.

           “I’m not a fan of the front porch steps,” she said, “or the ramp. It’s a bit rickety.”

           “We can fix it up,” Bentley said. He paused, tilted his head, then gave her a sly little grin. “Or at least, we know somebody who works cheap for that kind of thing.”

           “Hey, you can’t let me hear that,” Dipper said from the other room, where he was laying flat on the ground with his ear to the floorboards. “My prices might go up.”

           “Is it all good over there?” Bentley asked in lieu of answering. Torako looked up at the ceiling, where runes or wards or protective magics would be. Magics that would be hers, so they would hurt less to Bentley’s sensitive eye.

           “No creepy basements filled with cadavers or slaughtered cultmembers, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dipper said. Thankfully, Illya had left them to look over her dead mother’s home one last time, so there were no surprised gasps or queer glances. “Though we may want a couple rugs. I think this floor gets cold in the wintertime.”

           “Windowpanes are a little thin,” she muttered to herself. Her fingers tapped against her leg. “Could stand to be a bit more reinforced—though the French doors are probably okay, they seem sturdy enough—”

           “Torako.”

           Bentley’s warm hand slid over the one on her leg. Torako looked at him again. He peered at her over the rims of his oversized sunglasses, golden eye shimmering just a little. “Is there anything seriously wrong with this place? Anything that can’t be fixed?”

           Torako pressed her lips together. The aching anxiety in her chest pressed against her sternum. She tried to ignore it, and the thoughts of shadowy figures cutting through the glass panes, burning through the front door, squeezing through the cracks in the floorboards to steal Bentley away from—

           “Hey,” Bentley said, soft.

           “Hey,” Dipper said, a little brighter and brasher. He took her hand in his human hand. “We’re here, okay?”

           Torako turned her head to Dipper, brown eyes crinkled at the edges (and when had he put wrinkles on?) and grin still just a little too wide for human mouths to stand. She took a deep breath, and exhaled.

           “No,” she said. Bentley inhaled, sharp. “No, not no no! I just meant, ugh, there’s nothing I don’t like about this house that can’t be fixed. That no. Not the ‘let’s not do this’ no.”

           Both of her boys relaxed on either side of her. “Yeah,” Bentley said. “Yeah, I thought this was a good one, too.”

           She twisted her hand in theirs so that she could hold them.

           “Plus, it’s like, dirt cheap,” Dipper said. “Who knew that buying a house without a Realtor handling fee would result in such a bargain?”

           “Okay,” Torako said, a grin starting to pull at the corners of her mouth. The sunlight from the window was warm against her feet, reaching up to soothe the phantom pains in her shins from all those months ago. “Let’s tell Ilya.”

           It would be a good home.

 -

To: olpink@homestar.com

From: qilarlindquist@lindquistrealtors.com

SUBJECT: FWD: Thank you for your help

RECEIVED: August 31st, 3042

I don’t know whether to be furious or relieved. Mostly I’m just tired.

You up for dinner tonight?

Qilar

 >>To: hello@qilarlind.org

>>From: tora@lam.com

>>Attached: NewHouse+US.png

>>SUBJECT: Thank you for your help

>>RECEIVED: August 31st, 3042

>> 

>>Dear Mr. Lindquist,

           >> I email you to thank you so much for all your assistance. I don’t think we would have gotten as far as we did without you. Due to this journey, my partners and I realized some very important things.

           >>As you might have realized based on the name of the attachment, my partners and I have found a house through one of our acquaintances! It was lovely and off-market, and I probably wouldn’t have said no if it weren’t for our experiences with everybody at Lindquist Realtors and HomeStar Realtors. Thank you so much for your time and effort and energy, and I hope that you have a chance to relax now that we’re out of your hair.

>> 

>>Thank you again,

>>Torako Lam

>>Private Investigator

 -

 From: olpink@homestar.com

To: qilarlindquist@lindquistrealtors.com

 Qilar,

           What the fuck, even. Truly. What the fuck.

           I’ll bring the sparkling apple cider.

Olive

[gingerjanie-blog]

We didn miss a beat until that fourth goal

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[djinmer4]

Scarborough Fair (Noir AU)

“Are you absolutely certain this is what you want?” Stefan made no effort to keep his voice down, but the noise of the party easily drowned him out.

“I don’t understand your question,” Jimaine carefully brushed a few straggling hairs back into her coiffure.  “My fiancee is handsome, charming, polite and generous.  Plus, Kurt’s our foster brother, we’ve known him for years.  What more could I want?”

“I guess if you’re happy, that’s enough.”  Jimaine held out her arm, but her brother waved her away.  “Go and wow your fiance.  This party’s for you after all.”

She flashed a quick smile and strode into the festivities.  Kurt’s grin dutifully widened at her entrance, and he offered his arm to squire her around.  Stefan remained in the shadows, offering brief smiles and nods at any guests who noticed him but refraining from participating.

As he observed, he found himself being less and less happy about the upcoming nuptials.  On the surface, it was a fairytale marriage, with Jimaine as the golden bride and Kurt as the handsome groom.  And yet . . .

It wasn’t that Kurt was ignoring Jimaine.  He had greeted her effusively when she had entered, catered to her every voiced desire, remained well within view during the whole party.  But Stefan noticed, aside from the first moment, he never really looked at Jimaine.  He answered when she called for him, but he never initiated a conversation with her.  And while in view, he was almost never in arms reach of her.  If his sister wanted something, she had to walk over to him, never the other way around.

“Don’t you want a husband who will actually see you rather than take you for granted?” he whispered to himself.

~~~~~~~

He crouched on a hillside, burying himself in the low shrub.  It was nothing like Bavaria or Winzeldorf or Schwarzwald or any other place he’d ever been hunting.  There were no trees, what little cover existed came from the shadows of hills and rocks and low scrub.  But that meant the same thing for his opponents.  On the battlefield, it was only a question of whose eyes were sharper, whose reflexes were faster.  And so far, he’d been better than all his challengers.

Through the scope, he watched a sparrow land and peck at the frozen soil.  He followed it into the brush, searching for the telltale glint of metal.  He snuggled deeper into the camouflage blanket, letting it obscure the shadow of his body and hold back the biting cold.  He’s the only one on watch this hour, the rest of the squad in exhausted, fitful slumber will eventually end at an officer’s command or the whistle of incoming bombs with the dawn.

Not seeing any threats, he takes a few minutes to pull out his holdout.  He cleans the pistol but refrains from polishing it.  Too many fellow soldiers have lost their lives from either lack of maintenance or from bright flashes of metal in the dark.  An explosion of red breaks the early morning gloom and the silence and he abandons his post, shouting directions to the other waking soldiers.  More explosions wrack the night and they retreat through the trenches, the sand and mud and worse sucking the warmth from their legs with every step.  A man ahead of him stumbles and falls, and he grabs him by the leather harness on his back.  When a break occurs in the artillery fire, he realizes that the man he was dragging was already dead.

~~~~~~~

It’s ridiculously easy to gain access to the cabaret.  Despite being frequented by Weimar officials, it’s not one of the higher quality ones.  The bouncer doesn’t bother to even ask for ID, nodding him through with barely a glance at the crow’s-feet around his eyes and his thinning hair.  He drops his trench coat at the unmanned coat check but keeps his scarf and hat.  Inside, no one even glances as he takes a seat at the corner of the bar.  Two drinks later, and he leaves his seat for the bathroom.

It’s the work of moments to flip his suit jacket inside out, the white lining hastily limned in black thread to imitate the waiters’ uniforms.  His accessories go under the jacket and the blue mask goes his face, hiding the gas scars.  Again, he’s thankful for the target’s poor choice of venue.  The masks are as gimmicky as they come but all the servers are wearing similar ones and with the dim lighting it could be anyone under the fantastical facade.

It’s another hour before the target shows up and Kurt’s reminded why he hates jobs like these.  The music isn’t bad and he’s spent longer on his feet assisting senior surgeons, but suppressing the urge to beat all the rude fools to death is always a chore.  But finally, the officer comes in with about half a dozen friends, including a few working girls.  The loose way they hang over each other could be an issue, but he’s brought enough strychnine for all.

One of the longer, and frankly more interesting acts comes on stage and he makes his move.  About five minutes in, he goes around the table, refilling drinks and dropping quick dissolve capsules in the champagne.  The officer and his friends are too riveted to consume their drinks, and he drops off their meals just as the lights come back on.  Another fifteen minutes of serving, he slips back into the bathroom changing back into his suit.  A couple more drinks at the bar, and then he leaves, just as the first member of the party collapsed.

~~~~~~~

“Jimaine, grab his things.”  Stefan lifted the shorter man by the collar of his shirt and threw him out of the wagon.  “We’ve reached Winzeldorf, as promised.  Don’t let me catch you hanging around here again.”

Kurt brushed himself off, then caught the untidy parcels his foster sister tossed him.  “I’ll pray that God will soften your heart and you will repent this, brother.”

“Pray for yourself, murderer!”  With that, he turned and ordered the caravan back on the road.  Behind them, Kurt slipped on his boots and jacket, gathered his possessions and slipped off into the night.

~~~~~~~

“There’s been extensive degloving across the entire back.”  Dr. Wagner let the orderly clear a path through the busy hallways only pausing when they reached the entrance of the theatre.

“Is there any intact skin?”  He stripped off the scarf he was wearing and the broader man flinched and averted his eyes.

“I-I don’t think so.  The only place that wasn’t shredded was the front of his torso and using skin from there would be like robbing Peter to pay Paul.”  The orderly shot the surgeon a confused look as he reached into a wardrobe in his office.  “Is that a butcher’s apron?”

“I can never seem to remember to change my clothes before going home.  I thought maybe trying to protect my clothes during surgery might at least make me look less suspicious.”  The older man quickly tied the apron strings behind him.  “Hmm, there doesn’t seem to be much to work with.  What about the limbs?”

“Dr. Connors isn’t too optimistic about the results.  He said there’s going to be at least one amputation, maybe multiple ones, although he’s holding off until you’ve patched the torso.”

“In that case, I’ll take the skin from the limbs and try to patch over the torso with that.”

“Uh, are you sure that’s wise, doctor?”

He reached back into the ward to pull out the black leather bag containing his personal equipment.  “The man’s as good as dead anyway, so this is the perfect time to experiment.  If he lives, all well and good, if he dies, that’s what everyone was expecting anyway.  Really, there’s nothing to lose in this case.”  He replaced his scarf with a new surgical mask and also put on a new pair of thin rubber gloves.  “Now go start the carbolic spray.”

~~~~~~~

“Do you ever think about leaving the city?”

Kitty had spent the past 2 hours staring at her typewriter and welcomed the interruption.  “Leaving New York?  Sometimes, I think it would be nice to live in Boston or DC for a change but I’m pretty happy here.  Definitely not going back to Chicago though.  Too close to my parents.”

“Not what I meant.  I mean something like going out to New Jersey.  Or Ridgewood or Greenville.”

Her lips twisted down.  “Ugh, no!  I hate the idea of living in the countryside, I’d be so bored.  Why do you ask?”

He shrugged and then waved a hand in the air, dismissing the subject.  “I’ve been a little homesick.  Missing the woods of Winzeldorf.”

Kitty lay her hands on the keys, but didn’t apply any pressure to them.  “I’m telling you right now, if you’re planning that we get married and move out to some pastoral green acres, I’m giving back the ring immediately.”

His laugh turned into a snort turned into a brief coughing fit.  Once he got his breath back (after Kitty fetched him a drink of water) he demurred.  “Not right now, certainly!  If nothing else, I’d make less moving out of New York.  But maybe in a couple of decades, after I retire, would you consider it?”

The frown melted off her face and was replaced by contemplation.  “I’ve got to admit, it still doesn’t sound good to me but who knows how I’ll feel in twenty years.  Ask me then.”

~~~~~~~~

“There’s another one gone.  That’s the third one this year.” Dr. Connors was back from probation (or maybe more accurately stated, he was back on probation).

“Who’s gone?”

“Another one of the nurses.  Bertha, I think her name was.  They all swear they’re single when they first start, but six months later they’ve gotten engaged to some patient and they’re gone.”

Dr. Wagner looked up from the desk where he was writing case notes.  “That’s no good.  We can’t stop them from falling in love, but we’re short-handed.  Can’t they at least have the decency to tell us when they’re getting engaged so that we have a few months' notice to hire a replacement and train her?”

“Even if the girls are too silly to think of that, you’d think the patients would.  But it’s out the door and straight to the chapel.”  Connors took a sip of his coffee and grimaced.  “Still, it gives men like you a much-needed advantage.”

Blue eyes narrowed above his mask.  “What does that mean?”

“Well, I suppose the fact most of your patients are under ether makes it difficult for you to impress them.  Still, I’m sure that a few of the lady patients have thought even you to be as hotsy-totsy as Valentino.  Or maybe you’ve had a few shebas in the linen closet?  Either way, it’d be a sockdollanger for you.”

Kurt took several minutes to untangle the slang that Connors was using.  Once he did, he straightened up like a poker had been rammed up his backside.  “I’m married, thank you very much.”

The other man simply grinned at him.  “Is she from Canada?”

The German refused to dignify that with an answer, instead just dumping the remaining paperwork on the other doctor’s desk and walking out.

~~~~~~~

“Dad sent you over a Christmas gift.”

Kurt looked up from the journal he was reading.  “Your parents don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Yeah, I know.  But I think they’ve finally resigned themselves that I’m not going to move back to Chicago and marry a nice Jewish doctor the way they want me to, so they’re at least acknowledging your existence now.”

“Does it help at all that at least I am a doctor?  Even if I’m not very nice. ”  He carefully unwrapped the fire-engine red wrapping paid and set it aside.  Inside the matte velvet box was a pocket watch with the Star of David emblazoned on it. “What’s this?”

“It’s the bare minimum.  I think they’re lying to their friends, telling them the reason I’m not coming back is that I really did marry a nice Jewish boy from Queens.  If they really accepted you, Mom probably would have pushed that we do another wedding ceremony in Chicago.  I suppose I should just be grateful she didn’t sit shiva for me.”  Kitty slid down the side of the armchair to curl into his side.  “That’s a Pryde family heirloom.  It’s been passed down from father to son for about five generations now, but well . . . Dad always said he’d give it to the guy I’d marry.  So there’s that.”

He set the journal on the coffee table and pulled her into his lap.  “I suppose it would be rather difficult for you to run away now.  No one’s going to believe you if you say I’m a bigamist or cheating on you.”  He slid his hand around her side, down over her ribs.  “And I’m definitely not impotent.”  

She giggled at the tickling sensation.  “Don’t worry, I’m not interested in exchanging you for a new model, even if your hair is vanishing faster than a dewdropper’s scratch on a bangtail.”

A brief pause.  “I have no idea what you just said.”

She chortled again, leaning up to kiss the crow’s-feet around his eyes.  “It’s not important.  Just be glad at least one of my parents has accepted our marriage.  Albeit dragging his feet all the way.”

He thumbed the lid of the pocket watch, tracing the Star with his nail.  “Still, it takes a lot of bravery to step out of your comfort zone and let your daughter make her own decisions on these things.  Such courage should be rewarded.  Do you think he would take it amiss if I returned the gesture?”

She squirmed around until she was lying crosswise in his lap, the cold point of her nose touching bare skin just above the collar of his shirt.  “I think that would be a bad idea.  He’s gone out of his way to follow your culture this time, now it’s your turn to show that you respect his traditions.”

Kurt sighed, the sound slightly muffled by the mask.  “I can’t exactly go back in time and ask his permission to marry you again.  And Hannukah’s already passed . . .”

He felt more than saw her shrug.  “Dunno.  But Dad always did want a boy . . . “

“Well, I’ve never had a father.  Maybe we can bond over that.”

[brajeshupadhyay]

NBA players are about to venture into the unknown, wishing for the best possible outcome for a season that’s scheduled to resume under cloister at Disney World but no longer sure what “best” means anymore. Will an elaborate plan to regularly test players for COVID-19 and minimize their contact with nonessential personnel keep them healthy long enough to award a championship? How many positive COVID-19 tests will be enough for Commissioner Adam Silver to abandon this restart in Florida, where the number of confirmed new COVID-19 cases spiked this week? So many questions, so few reassuring answers. With about a week to go before teams are due to report to Orlando for training camp, Clippers coach Doc Rivers acknowledged he’s concerned about the health of everyone involved — and the rest of us. “I’m hoping, quite honestly, and it’s just a hope, that when we get to the bubble it becomes the safest place in America,” Rivers said during a conference call Wednesday. “But we don’t know any of this, and yeah, this pandemic, it seems like obviously — I guess this is the only political statement I’ll make on it. It would be great if we had national leadership, which we have zero on this, and so, unfortunately, everyone is left to do their own thing from state to state and in some places from city to city. It’s absurd. “But what we’re going to try to do once we get to Disney is protect each other, protect the area. But we have to get there. You know, you’re almost nervous about that.” Rivers compared the mind-set required to navigate these anxious times to carrying out a Navy SEALs mission. Resolve, he said, will count as much as skill. “I was talking to the commissioner last week,” Rivers said, “and he said the team that wins this will deserve a gold star, not an asterisk. If you think about the mental toughness it’s going to take, whoever comes out of this, it’s going to come down to that. “It’s going to come down to teams trying to get back together and play together. But there’s going to be so many things that are thrown at us that we don’t even know yet, that it’s really going to be a mental toughness challenge.” Rivers believes he has gained a good read on his players by maintaining constant contact with them since the season was paused on March 11. What began as mundane chats about family and staying in shape took on depths beyond basketball in late May after video emerged of George Floyd dying while being pinned beneath the knee of a Minneapolis policeman for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. “That’s almost an entire quarter of basketball that you got to sit and just watch,” Rivers said. “Just watch it in full, and if that doesn’t change you or affect you, then you have no feelings.” Conversations about the brutality of Floyd’s death inspired discussions among players and coaches about their lives and their options in responding to pervasive racism. Some have posted messages on social media; some have participated in peaceful protests. Rivers praised the advocacy of Atlanta Hawks coach Lloyd Pierce, whose team announced plans to turn State Farm Arena into a massive polling place to fight voting suppression. Rivers said the Clippers, with the strong support of owner Steve Ballmer, will speak out against social injustice but Rivers declined to disclose specifics. The NBA has said it will permit players to replace the name on the back of their respective jerseys with phrases related to social justice, and teams will compete in Orlando on courts that will have Black Lives Matters painted on the floor. Rivers’ conversations with players about Floyd and the protests triggered by Floyd’s death were informed by a lifetime’s experience of racism. Remember, Rivers expertly guided the Clippers through tense times in 2014 when the league banned then-team owner Donald Sterling for life because of racist remarks and mandated that Sterling sell the team. “I think my life did, honestly,” Rivers said when asked whether the Sterling episode had shaped his current approach. “Sterling is just one of the small chapters in it. I’ve had my house burned down. I grew up in Chicago, and in the time I grew up in Chicago it was probably the most segregated city in the country. “So, I’m seeing this through my life. I’ve seen it through my father, who was a police officer, and through my grandparents, who told stories about Macon, Georgia, where they grew up. This is just another chapter. But this seems to me to have legs, this one. I’ve seen too many protests that they become protests and then everybody wears a badge or wears signs and then it goes away. This is not going away this time. I really believe this. I think social media is part of that, and I just think our young people are engaged. … This thing has life, and so we have to keep it going.” In the meantime the NBA is determined to finish this season, barring a massive COVID-19 outbreak that bursts its bubble. Hoping for the best these days means more than getting competitive games and correct calls from officials. window.fbAsyncInit = function() { FB.init({ appId : '119932621434123', xfbml : true, version : 'v2.9' }); }; (function(d, s, id){ var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) {return;} js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = "https://ift.tt/1sGOfhN"; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, 'script', 'facebook-jssdk')); The post Column: Doc Rivers hopeful, yet concerned, about completing season appeared first on Sansaar Times.

http://sansaartimes.blogspot.com/2020/07/column-doc-rivers-hopeful-yet-concerned.html

[adazhang-ccc-2020-blog]

Week 13

Week 13

Class notes

Structure of feelings about my topic:

Dominant idea: Suicide is not only influenced by society but an individual's thoughts are also essential to take into account. The increase in suicidality occurs, particularly during adolescence.

Residual idea: We cannot talk about suicide in public or with a group of people, as people would think you are saying something else. Because of the seriousness of the problem, it is not a normal thing for us to talk about, and it is dangerous to even mention it.

Emergent idea: Self-awareness can enable us to realize the pain, however, it can also invite suicidal thoughts. It is not the aversiveness of psychache that kills, but the idea of suicide as an available means of escaping it.

Resource I have looked at

The Evolution of Suicide  By C A Soper, pg 87 https://books.google.com/books?id=DS5mDwAAQBAJ&pg=PA87&lpg=PA87&dq=what+is+the+emergent+idea++for+suicide&source=bl&ots=70Mi8nrjkD&sig=ACfU3U04kbLdFkxIx8ksq6F_wQkX3BJWVQ&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjAxq27us7pAhUCHaYKHTeeBUMQ6AEwAHoECAoQAQ#v=onepage&q=what%20is%20the%20emergent%20idea%20%20for%20suicide&f=false

Further research

Can artwork influence suicidal thoughts?

By Elizabeth Landau, CNN. July 13, 2010

http://edition.cnn.com/2010/HEALTH/07/13/suicide.locations.barriers/index.html  

Brief description: it focuses on the negative artworks which have been published in public in Russia, and its effect might have been brought to people. Some psychologists think that for artwork that are negative, dark and might contains suicidal behaviours could influence people's mental health.

Notes

The artwork has been raising eyebrows among mental health professionals and bloggers alike. The question remains: Could this subway station become a place that encourages suicidal behaviour?

Too early to say what will happen, but could be inviting suicidal behaviour.

It can affect people already at risk, said Nadine Kaslow, a psychologist at Emory University.

More recently, many systematic studies have found that media reporting can lead to imitative suicidal behaviours and that young people and those suffering from depression can be especially vulnerable.

Against describing or showing photographically the specifics of suicide method and location, as these details and images may encourage others to imitate the act.

Thoughts

This article agrees that artwork can influence suicidal thoughts in terms of its content and the way it 's presented.

Sometimes the content in artworks is dark and distorted due to time it was created and the impacts of the social environment within that period. Therefore, when people with mental health problems see these works, they may cause further harm to people’s psychology which is a commonly agreed view echoed by some psychologists.

In my opinion, the cause of this problem mainly depends on the content of the artworks as well as the way they are displayed. We cannot change the content of a work, nor can we control the production of such an art piece. Putting it on public display represents making it be seen and exposed. However, it is impossible to predict who will see it and who will be affected by looking at it. For people who are not suicidal, the effect is small, but for people who have mild or severe problems, it can be fatal.

The proper use of art is essential, as it can help others to some extent, but when it is misused or misleading, it can have the opposite effect and have a serious impact.

I think what we can do is to minimize the exposure of works like this in public which can have a great negative impact on people’s mental health, or we can use the artwork in another way, for example, turning the content into something positive, something that can help people out.

A Community’s Response to Suicide Through Public Art: Stakeholder Perspectives from the Finding the Light Within Project

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3865777/

Citation: Mohatt, Nathaniel V et al. “A community's response to suicide through public art: stakeholder perspectives from the Finding the Light Within project.” American journal of community psychology vol. 52,1-2 (2013): 197-209. doi:10.1007/s10464-013-9581-7

Brief description: This article presents seven first person accounts of Finding the Light Within, a community mobilization initiative to reduce the stigma associated with suicide through public arts participation that took place in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania from 2011 through 2012.

Notes:

#Introduction

The purpose or content: Describe a community mobilization effort to address the issue of suicide through public arts. It focuses on the shared experiences of suicide survivors as well as stories of individual and community healing and resilience in the aftermath of suicide.

The high risks: Pennsylvania’s suicide rate (11 per 100,000) is significantly higher than neighbouring New York (6.91) and New Jersey (6.71) (CDC 2011), and in Philadelphia, the rate of suicide attempts per 100,000 among African American youth (12.1) is significantly higher than that of nearby New York City (6.5) and Baltimore (7.8) (CDC 2011).

Presenting a series of seven, brief first-person accounts. Each first-person account is the personal statement of the individual or pair. This format offers a 360° perspective on how participatory public art can be used as a mechanism for social change and community mobilization to address what is historically considered to be an individual mental health problem—suicide and its aftermath. 

Finding the Light Within resulted in considerable local publicity that promoted a public narrative of suicide and its aftermath that contained both stories of pain and suffering and ones of collective healing, resilience, and hope.

My thoughts:

The example of the mural artwork is opposite to the one displayed in Russia metro station. Although they share the same content which is about suicide and are also publicized in public places, they are playing different roles and having different influences. If the work in Russia station brings negative influences, oppositely this mural has full of positivities.

Community members are urging people to face suicide issues directly and to help those who are suicidal. The Community provides a platform where everyone reaches out to each other, acknowledges the serious negative consequences of suicide, and encourages people instead of giving up their hope try to pull themselves out of the pain.

I think it's a great example of turning a negative subject into a positive project. People have the chances to express their emotions and share with others with no fear and shame. By making the work public, more people can see it and be healed. In the rest of the article, the first-person perspective is adopted to narrate their points on the project which is good as the audience can engage their thoughts more deeply and truly.

#Margaret Pelleritti, Community Member and Suicide Survivor

One of the biggest challenges with suicide is how much it affects the people surviving, outside of even the direct survivors.

He thinks that it's better if this project can help people realize that suicide is not the answer to problems, to understand why some people would choose to suicide and to heal some of them.

Pelleritti has lost his son. But he never gives in to life, his daughter is the reason he keeps on his life for.

The painting was very permanent. When you put the brush into the paint, you know that what you are doing is something very lasting for someone that you love. Doing this for the memory, even though the person was long gone, he was here once before.

I hope this project can help spread the word. By sharing anyone’s story, whether it is someone who attempted or someone who lost someone, by sharing these stories we are hopefully creating a light bulb moment for someone to realize I feel this way, or I don’t want my mother to feel this way.

Make people realize they do want to live, whether it is something like the Out of the Darkness Walk or the Finding the Light Within mural, to save lives so that there are no more survivors.

My thoughts:

This part is about the experience of a suicide survivor who has seen people committed suicide and his views on this mural project. He believes the effects of suicide are mutual, and the impact on others can not be underestimated. Suicide to their own injury is the physical destruction, for them, their morbid psychology makes them only focus on themselves, as a result, they have no way to know and can not take into account the people who cherish them and understand how much pain these people will be in. Pelleritti saw his uncle commit suicide when he was young, and when he had children, he saw his son chose to end his life as well. These were heartbreaking experiences, but he kept his spirits up as he realized that suicide was not the right way to solve the problem, there were better options and turning away from the problem can not be helpful. He still has his love and his daughter.

For the mural painting project, he thinks it is a good platform, providing a place for people who have survived from suicide or who once had this idea to share their feelings without scruples. It's also a way to be aware of and cherish your life. First of all, he thinks that this mural can help people understand that suicide is not a good way and there is a lot of hope in life. Even if some people choose to commit suicide in the end, mural painting can also convey the thoughts of those who commit suicide, so that we can know their real thoughts justly.

I really like what Pelleritti said about the permanence within the mural and I agree that the characteristic enhances the meaning of the project. The long-lasting mural symbolizes the ever-lasting love for the one you care about. Although some people may no longer be in this world, the murals have permanently retained the evidence and traces of their presence. Although everything is over, the memory is unable to be erased, it is like a beautiful scar, fleeting like fireworks. The mural frames the eternal beauty that took place in the past and portrays the preciousness of life.

I Want To Live

A photography project exploring suicide

http://iwanttolive.photography/

Full project link http://danielregan.photography/iwanttolive/

This photography project is run by photographer Daniel Regan and suicide prevention charity Maytree.

The project comprises several interviews and photographic portraits of Maytree’s volunteer workforce, investigating what brings people to volunteer with those in suicidal crisis, volunteers’ own mental health experiences and the impact of suicide.

One of the interviewees

Kwabena

I was studying social work when I started volunteering at Maytree. I enjoyed my time there so I continued even after I’d finished my studies.

There are so many people out there that try to commit suicide. I’m not trying to save them but I am trying to support them. I try to offer them different perspectives that help them recognise their difficulties. I do feel that I’m contributing in some way, even if it’s just helping them on to the path of recovery. The fact that people can make a phone call to Maytree is a sign of strength, to recognise where they are and what they need.

I know family and friends that have been affected by depression so that’s impacted my decision to stay there. It’s very simple at Maytree, it’s just talking and allowing people to express their emotions, but it’s also very effective. Whenever I do a shift it always feels like the first week that I’ve been there because the situation is so fresh and different. We form short but meaningful connections with guests. Because the connection is so temporary it’s easy to say how you feel with someone, which I think helps to get things out and be honest.

[ferritin4]

Titans Together (3K Gen Jon Kent/Damian Wayne)

Here’s a thing I’ve never posted on here: DC comics fic! I’m one of those people that’s been reading comics since I was a kid, but never in a viciously completionist way. Then, as an adult, I went back and read the runs of things that were recommended or appealed to me, like, among many other things (buncha Batman, the Grayson run even though yes it kinda sucked, all of the new Midnighter before it got canceled), Super Sons. Which is hilarious, and the art is fabulous, and the characters are just perfect. Strong rec.

Like many people, I’m totally here for aged-up Jon Kent/Damian Wayne -- it’s like if Clark/Bruce were both more dramatic and less weird and awful about/to each other -- and I, personally, have a headcanon that Damian, though short now, really ought to grow up to be like 6′4″ and massive. Because his dad’s the tallest in the Batfam and very big, and his mom’s both tall and built for a woman. He has to be a low-grade celebrity at college: Bruce Wayne's son and a prodigy in every subject, a super intense giant scary ripped antisocial multimillionaire 21-year-old who's already halfway through his PhD and wears suits to class. 

And then I want Jon Kent to come visit him at Princeton and be a total fucking hayseed like, "Oh, whoa, wow! That building is so cool looking! What kind of style did you say it was, Dami?" in farm boy jeans and a Carhartt jacket and everyone is like whaaaat the fuuuuck

And that is this fic. (Yes. The art history is made up. That is intentional.)

—

Princeton was huge. Wow.

—

Jon didn’t expect it to be small — he had lived in Metropolis forever as a kid and he’d toured a couple colleges in Gotham, even. He knew Princeton wasn’t gonna be like, the size of Garden City Community College or something, but gosh. It was really, really big.

The administrative offices were right at the main entrance, and that was a good thing, because Jon needed a map, and some directions, and maybe a nametag?

“No, honey,” the woman at the desk said. Her desk plaque read Moira Reed and she looked kind of like his mom’s oldest cousin. “You don’t need a name tag, you just need to show me your ID and sign in so we know you’re on campus. Are you a prospective student?” she asked, taking his driver’s license. “Since you’re eighteen, you don’t need a guardian with you, but I would like an emergency contact, just in case.”

“Oh, sure,” Jon said. “And, no, I’m just visiting a friend who goes here. I live in Kansas,” he added, which — was probably super obvious from the whole Kansas state driver’s license thing. Duh. “You can, uh, tell, I guess. Thank you,” he said, taking it back.

She chuckled. “No worries. Do you need directions to their dorm? Or do they live off campus nearby?”

“No, thank you. He lives in grad student housing, I think?” Jon said. “But I do need directions to —” Jon pulled out his notebook “— Waterstone Hall? For ‘Art History 466’?”

Moira had a map, and a Sharpie, and a very, very patient smile, and Jon thanked her like five times before she kicked him out and told him to enjoy his class.

—

“Good lord,” an older woman’s voice said to Moira as Jon left the office. “Wasn’t he just the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“They have manners in Kansas!” Moira said, laughing. “Maybe he should teach a class.”

—

Waterstone Hall was a beautiful brick building with small, well-kept classrooms with sky-blue walls and new whiteboards. Jon poked his head into a couple of empty rooms before he found 343B.

The seats were angled like a movie theater, pretty steep, and Jon picked a seat about halfway back, on the aisle in case anybody needed him to move. There were maybe twenty students already there, but he didn’t know how many were supposed to come. Class didn’t start for — five more minutes, according to the super fancy old analog clock on the wall.

Everybody was pretty dressed up, except Jon. Did they dress up for class at Princeton? Maybe; maybe it was like private school except without uniforms. The kid next to him was wearing a sweater vest over a collared white button-down shirt, and the girl directly in front of him was wearing some kind of dark blue fancy-looking shirt and pearls.

Jon shrugged off his jacket and put his notebook on the desk in front of him. His flannel had a collar, but he didn’t think that really counted for anything at Princeton.

Somebody was looking at him.

“Hi,” Jon said to the sweater vest kid, who was staring at him like he could see straight through Jon’s head.

“Who are you?” Sweater Vest said. Not, like, meanly. More like Jon was a raccoon or something that had wandered into the classroom.

Or something. Jon didn’t know if they had a lot of raccoons in New Jersey.

“I’m Jon,” Jon said. “I’m just visiting a friend, and I thought I’d sit in on class. Don’t worry,” he added, smiling, “I won’t try to lead discussion group or anything.”

“This class doesn’t have a discussion group,” Sweater Vest said, still staring. “You’re visiting a friend? Who goes here? And they told you to come to this class?”

The girl in front of them swiveled around. “No,” she said. “They must have meant a different class.”

“Art History 466?” Jon said. Maybe he was in the wrong room and this was some — but what class would be bad to sit in on?

Sweater Vest’s stare got, if possible, even more bug-eyed.

“Your friend is an asshole,” he said. “You gotta get out of here, kid, I’m not joking. Just… go to a coffeeshop for an hour or something, seriously, you have like sixty seconds before —”

“Shh!” the girl in front of them hissed suddenly, and oh hey, class was about to start.

—

The online course catalog had had a little description of the class and then links to a bunch of weekly readings, all posted and numbered and dated, and then, right under the all-caps, fancy bold lettering for ART HISTORY 466, it had said Instructor of Record: Damian Wayne.

—

Most of Jon’s classes at community college were hands-on. He was there mostly to learn how to do upkeep on the farm and maintenance on the equipment. Jon wasn’t a bad student — he always did his homework — but he liked the chance to move around while he learned.

His mom liked to say that Jon could sit still for about forty-five seconds, if he tried really hard.

He folded his hands in his lap and tried, as hard as he could, to hold still.

Damian was wearing a suit, of course — he had started wearing suits every day, like his dad, when he turned sixteen and went to college, and maybe that was why everybody was dressed up, maybe class had a dress code. If anyone would make their college class have a dress code, it would totally be Damian, a PhD student who still showed up to teach art history in a ridiculously fancy suit that made him look just like his dad.

Jon had been glad when Damian got taller than him, and even gladder when Damian had finally filled out. It made him look so much more like Bruce, so much less like Talia, and that, well. Jon didn’t need to be the world’s greatest anything to know how important that was to Damian.

Damian still had her sharp features, her olive skin, her cruel streak, of course, but it sure put Jon’s heart at ease to know Damian didn’t have to look in the mirror each morning and see only her face.

Damian put his bag down on the big desk at the front and started taking out some papers, as Jon bit his lip and tried to modulate his breathing so he sounded like everyone else in class, so he wasn’t forgetting to take a breath for too long, because he could forget, easy, when he was distracted, but Damian would totally notice and Jon didn’t want him to figure it out early, he wanted to him to notice when —

Damian looked up and over the class, just a quick, dismissive glance, and Jon could practically hear the gravel crunching as his eyes ground to a halt on Jon.

Sweater Vest stopped breathing; the girl in front of them sucked in in a huge rush of air. No one had been talking, but now no one was moving, just a roomful of terrified, pounding hearts, and oh my God, Damian, Jon thought fondly, you total freaking lunatic.

Jon smiled. Damian’s eyebrow quirked, very slightly, and he looked away, going back to his papers.

Sweater Vest breathed out, slow and shaky.

Class began.

It was interesting. They were mostly talking about German and French weaving and some wall paintings — murals, duh, right — but from like, 900CE. There was a projector and Damian had put up a couple pictures of the big murals so they could look at them while he talked.

Damian knew his stuff. It wasn’t shocking; he’d written like four books about this that Jon knew of, and anyway, Damian had known more than anyone else about pretty much everything for like, the duration of Jon’s entire life.

“The repeating patterns you see here became more geometrically constrained starting around 955CE,” Damian was saying. “They also became more consistent both intra- and inter-artist. Ms. Braxton,” he said, fixing his eyes on a small, dark-skinned girl in the second row, “why is that?”

“Uh,” she said. “Is it because of the access to, uh, horsehair —”

“No,” he said. “Mr. Kendry?”

Mr. Kendry was a tall, lanky boy with pale skin and paler hair who was sitting five seats over from Jon. He had a fancy leather jacket on in class, which Jon had always thought was rude — weren’t you supposed to take your coat off inside?

“Because of the invention of higher mathematics,” Mr. Kendry said, shooting Ms. Braxton a disdainful look.

“In 955CE?” Damian said musingly. “What a charmingly Eurocentric perspective.”

“What?” Mr. Kendry said, wary.

“Who exactly invented the mathematics you’re discussing?” Damian said.

“I, uh,” Mr. Kendry babbled. “I’m not sure. This is art history, I mean, I didn’t —”

“Congratulations,” Damian said, in a voice like ice. “You’ve managed to put forth a single sentence, misleading at best, and yet you cannot even explain your own thought processes, much less provide any facts to back up your very incorrect theory.”

Jon leaned over to Sweater Vest, who flinched away from him, then took a breath and leaned back in.

“Do people do the reading for this class?” Jon whispered.

“What?” Sweater Vest whispered back. “Yeah, of —”

“Kent,” Damian snapped, “do you have something to add?”

Clothing rustled against seats; papers shifted under fingertips as twenty pairs of eyes slowly turned to stare at Jon.

“Yeah, I guess,” Jon said. “I just thought that you had said that that kind of geometry wasn’t really introduced until like fifty years after this.”

“I had said?” Damian asked, locking onto him. “When did I say that?”

It was a real question. Jon could tell — of course he could tell, like, it had only been eight years. Sometimes Damian asked rhetorical questions so he could go on and on about whatever point he was trying to make and sometimes he asked real questions that he wanted an answer to. He just wasn’t super good at making those two things sound different.

“In the reading?” Jon said. “Um, on page,” he flipped through his notebook, “fourteen? You said that, uh, the use of repeating patterns got better starting in the mid-900s, but that, then, on page twenty-one, you said that people had tried to introduce new kinds of math like, a bunch of times but nobody really paid any attention until King Rasbin IV and he didn’t start being king until 1005. I had to look that up, you didn’t say when he was king from,” Jon said, looking back up to meet Damian’s eyes.

The classroom was silent as a grave. Jon could hear each timid, careful breath from each student, the beat of every heart.

Damian was silent, too, which was way weirder. Come on, Jon thought. Did Damian really think he’d show up to Damian’s class and not even have done the reading? Damian had literally written the textbook.

“So it sounds like the art stuff got better before they really accepted the math stuff,” Jon added, in case he’d been confusing, not to Damian — who definitely knew what he meant to say; he almost always did — but to everyone else, who all still looked like Jon had turned them to stone.

Damian’s gaze shifted slightly, less hard and more impatient, and oh shit, Jon knew that look. Damn it.

“Um,” Jon said, scratching at his hair. That was all he knew about anything, Damian, geez. Call on someone else.

Keep talking, Damian’s expression said. Come on, Kent. You’re almost there.

He knew that look.

“Maybe, did the artists — oh! Were they trying to figure it out?” Jon said. “Like, maybe they were trying to make up this kind of geometry on their own, but King Rasbin, you said he liked this art style, he had a bunch of people painting his palace, so maybe, did he hear about the new math stuff and then go to his artists and say, like, ‘guys, this is like what you’re trying to do? But better, so you should try this instead?’”

The left side of Damian’s mouth twitched up; his brows found a distinctly satisfied tilt. Jon grinned.

“King Rasbin IV,” Damian said mildly. “King Rasbin was a powerless puppet ruler who was killed at fifteen. Otherwise, yes.”

The room, collectively, breathed out.

“Cool,” Jon said. Damian raised both eyebrows. “Not the puppet king thing,” Jon said, rolling his eyes. “The art thing! Cool that it was so popular that the artists convinced everyone to pay attention to the new math stuff.”

“Yes. Although in most academic circles it’s still considered a theory without clear evidence,” Damian told him.

“Oh,” Jon said.

“Don’t worry, I have a paper under review which will address that deficit,”  Damian said, flashing just a hint of teeth. “Unsurprisingly, some people aren’t very good at gathering evidence.”

Jon laughed.

“Don’t laugh at him!” Sweater Vest whispered furiously.

“Mr. Mitchell,” Damian said. Sweater Vest’s head snapped up.

“Yes,” Sweater Vest said weakly.

“In 1132CE, following the death of King Rasbin V, Guillaume Res wrote a treatise on the new bascura technique,” Damian said. “What were its immediate and long-term implications for palace artworks?”

Sweater Vest opened his mouth, then closed it.

Damian turned to his desk and started rifling through the papers. Sweater Vest looked like he was going to throw up.

“Mr. Mitchell, I will give you five seconds to produce something resembling a coherent, informed answer,” Damian pulled a packet of papers out of the pile, “before I discard your midterm paper and give you a zero.”

“Uh,” Sweater Vest said.

“Five,” Damian said. “Four.”

“If you don’t know, just guess something!” Jon whispered.

“Shut up, Kent,” Damian said, agate-hard. “You’re not allowed to help him. Three.”

“Aaauuuhh? I, um,” Sweater Vest said.

“Two,” Damian said. “One.”

“What’s the point of this? He obviously doesn’t know!” Jon said.

“You’re right,” Damian said, “he doesn’t.” He dropped the paper into the trash can by the desk. “Moving on.”

“Geez,” Jon muttered when Damian turned his back to them to advance the slideshow.

“You need to shut up, for real,” Sweater Vest told him, “before Wayne comes up here and stabs you.”

“Pff,” Jon said, just loud enough to carry. “Stab me? He could try.”

Damian’s spine straightened, briefly, but he just pushed a button and a new painting came up on the projector screen.

—

“Dismissed,” Damian said, finally, and the room burst into a rush of noise, closing books and scraping chairs.

“Thanks,” Sweater Vest said to Jon, not at all sarcastically.

“Huh?” Jon said.

“You distracted him for a while,” Sweater Vest said. “Thanks.”

“Uh, okay,” Jon said, and then, “you’re welcome,” because that’s what you said when somebody said thank you.

“Yep,” Sweater Vest said, standing up. “Now flee while you can.”

Jon didn’t, though; he was planning to wait until everyone was gone to go down to the front, but about half the students were still there when Damian snapped his bag shut and said, “Is something amiss? Did one of our fathers send you?”

Nobody else was near him. Nobody else would have heard him. He wasn’t talking to anyone else.

Jon got up and collected his jacket and notebook and walked down to the board as fast as he could without raising suspicion, or at least eyebrows.

“No, of course not,” Jon said, coming up behind Damian. He almost leaned on the desk next to where Damian was standing, but then he’d be like, one foot away from Damian and everyone else was giving them a good ten foot clearance, easy.

Definitely because of Damian, not because of Jon. Jon stopped a few feet away and put his hands in his pockets.

Damian shot him a look.

“If something bad was happening, I would call you,” Jon said. “I was just in the area because my friend Leah from home is moving to an apartment in Trenton to live near her mom, so —”

“Most people just say, ‘I was in the neighborhood,’” Damian said.

“Okay, fine,” Jon said. “I was in the neighborhood.”

Damian turned to face him, frowning. “Then what’s wrong with you, Kent? You’re not normally this standoffish.”

“What?” Jon said. “I’m not — you are, and anyway, all your students are still here! I don’t wanna be like, ‘hey buddy!’ and then you have to explain why you have some random kid who doesn’t even go here showing up and being weird.”

“Did you hit your head on the flight here? I don’t explain my interpersonal interactions to my undergraduates,” Damian said.

“Oh,” Jon said, feeling slightly silly. “Right.”

“Did you truly think I cared about them?” Damian said snidely. “I haven’t gotten that soft in my old age.”

“You’re not that old,” Jon said.

“Old enough,” Damian said, haughty, and Jon said, “I’ve seen you older,” because he was never ever letting Damian live down the time he got turned into a tiny little eighty-year-old man.

Damian narrowed his eyes and gave him a look that could cut glass.

“Anyway,” Jon said, “hey buddy! I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d stop by,” and then, while Damian was still disoriented by being super mad at him, he stepped in for hug.

Somebody dropped a whole armful of books.

“Gah!” Damian said. “This is not what I was encouraging you —”

Jon patted him on the back and let him go. “Are you done? I’m starving.”

“Of course you are,” Damian said. “Fine. Come on, the chefs at the dining hall should be preparing my dinner. They’ll make you an extra serving if we catch them early enough.”

“I can just eat normal cafeteria food, or whatever,” Jon said.

“You could eat garbage off the ground,” Damian said. “I can’t. Let’s go.”

—

NOW THERE IS A SEQUEL! Did you want that? Well, I did.